


Ergastulum Nocturne

by elinorwritesstuff



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: A couple of scenes toward the end, Action, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Divergence, Characters in the tags are all alive, Dr. Theo draws blood a couple of times, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, It's in the first chapter and it's over quick, Manga Spoilers, Needles, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Smut, There's a sad story about a dog in Chapter 7, wait no i split a chapter the dog story is in chapter 8 now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinorwritesstuff/pseuds/elinorwritesstuff
Summary: A woman wakes in Ergastulum and finds that she knows too much, even though she can’t remember who she is. One year after the attacks by Esminets/The Destroyers Third Group, Worick and Nicolas find themselves helping another woman who’s lost her memories. But this time, instead of pulling her into their conflicts, the Handymen find themselves drawn into hers.
Relationships: Nicolas Brown/Original Character(s), Worick Arcangelo/Original Character(s)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 6





	1. One: Nicolas

**Author's Note:**

> Crashing into this fandom with a whole fucking novel. 
> 
> Last summer I watched the anime, and then I watched it again, and I just wanted to write something that took place after the cliffhanger ending where everything was fine. Everything worked out just fine. Then I watched it again at the beginning of February, and picked up the fic again, and it's February and COVID and I haven't hugged my friends in almost a year so I started writing a literal novel. And then I HAD TO KNOW, so I got the manga, and I read up to Volume 8 which I think is all that's available in English, and I took a breath and continued writing this fic where EVERYTHING IS JUST FINE. It's mostly canon compliant thought volume 8 (not counting the unlikelihood of everything working out fine), with canon divergences in the tags.
> 
> I don't have an update schedule, but the first draft is written, so I promise i won't leave you hanging, and I'll be posting chapters as I finish editing them.
> 
> Text styles:  
>  _italics are for emphasis and memories_  
>  **bold is for signing**  
>  Sentences that are bold with a couple of normal text words, or normal text with a couple of bold words, are a combination of speech and sign.  
> Nic speaking aloud will just be normal text. I don't have the patience for irregular caps, and I think we all know what he sounds like.

June woke in the back of a car. The fabric of the seat was old and worn; it smelled like cigarettes and the accumulated grime of a decade or so. Blinking, she tried to remember how she’d gotten there. Her thoughts were slow and foggy; moving felt like wading through mud. Was she hungover? It wasn’t until she thought to ask the person driving the car that she noticed the duct tape that covered her mouth. Another shift and she realized that her wrists and ankles were bound as well.

She squirmed, trying to maneuver herself into a seated position. How had she gotten here? Had she been drugged? Where had she been last? What day was it? She heard a man’s voice from the front seat.

“Hey, she’s awake.”

A second male voice answered from the driver’s seat. “We’re still ten minutes out. Better pull over. Have a chat about manners. Maybe a little fun.”

She felt the car slow and pull over to the right. She struggled, but couldn’t manage to get herself upright. She heard the front doors on either side of the door open and close. Panic tried and failed to rise in her chest. It was clear now that she’d been kidnapped and drugged, but whatever they had given her made everything thick and slow, the air, her movements, her thoughts...

The door by her feet opened. A man stood there, dark-haired and olive-complected, wearing sunglasses and a cheap suit. He pulled something out of his pocket, and she tilted her head up to see what it was. A pocket knife that he flicked open. She made a strangled cry, but not much sound got through the tape covering her mouth.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” the man said in a sneering sort of voice. “Just gonna cut that tape on your legs for you. We’ve been driving a while now. Must be pretty stiff.” He reached out and grabbed one of her ankles, and she wanted to kick, but all she managed was to shift weakly. True to his word, he cut the tape that bound her ankles, first the front, then the back, so that it still hung stuck to her skin, but she could move her legs. “C’mon, come out and stretch your legs. He leered at her and held out a hand, but all she did was use her freed legs to back away. “Well,” he shrugged, “suit yourself.” He nodded, looking over her head at something, and she felt the door behind her open. Rough hands grabbed her under the arms and hauled her out of the car. With her legs free, she wanted to struggle, to fight, but when she was set with her feet on the ground, she could barely stand, forced to lean on the man holding her for support rather than trying to get away.

She took in her surroundings as the first man walked around the car. She was in a little alley; the city looked like it was somewhere near the Mediterranean, all narrow streets and tan brick buildings. It felt unfamiliar; she didn’t think she lived here. She didn’t think she’d been here before. Where...where was she supposed to be? Her shoes felt wrong. She looked down at herself to see a pair of strappy, heeled sandals, a pair of jean shorts that barely covered anything, and a white tank top. None of it felt familiar, and with growing horror she realized these probably weren’t her clothes.

“There you go, Princess,” the first man had come around the car. He’d put the knife away, at least. “Feeling better? You remember me?” He leaned in, leering at her. She looked at him and she didn’t; she didn’t remember...she was starting to realize that she didn’t remember very much of anything. She just looked at the man; it wasn’t as if she could answer with the tape over her mouth, anyway. “Yeah, didn’t think so,” he said, looking satisfied. “That’s fine. Let me just fill you in, okay? We met last night, and we got to chatting. I gave you...a little job offer, and you accepted.” That didn’t sound right. Of course it didn’t. He’d kidnapped her. From...where? “So here we are, on our way to your new place of employment. But since you’re up a little early, we thought we’d just stop for a minute and finish up your interview. Right, Paolo?” He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows at the man holding her.

She felt the man’s grip on her upper arms tighten, and she stiffened in response. The first man reached for the tape on her mouth, and she jerked away, weakly.

“Hey there, Princess, don’t you want that off?”

“You sure about that, Jimmy?” The man behind her spoke.

The first man, Jimmy, ripped the tape off her mouth before answering. It left her skin stinging. “I think she’s gonna be nice and quiet for us. Besides, she’s gonna need her mouth for the, uh, interview,” he gave a low chuckle. “Alright, Princess, why don’t you get down on your knees for me.” The man behind her started to push her down while the first man’s hands went to his belt, and it was only then that her foggy mind finally understood--really understood--what was happening to her. The drugs, the clothes, the kidnapping; she was being trafficked.

“No!” she shouted, struggling against the man holding her, trying to kick.

“Hey,” Jimmy caught her by the jaw. “No more of that. Don’t want to have to deliver you with bruises.” 

The two men were much too strong for her, especially in her confused state. The panic was working its way through the fog, and it had reached her mind, now, her thoughts, but not her limbs. Her knees started to buckle. And then, suddenly, Paolo stopped moving.

“Eh, Jimmy, we’ve got an audience.”

She looked past Jimmy’s shoulder. There was a man watching them from the other end of the alley. He had tan skin and black hair, and was wearing an almost military outfit of a black shirt and green cargo pants. He stood, silent and impassive.

Jimmy turned just after she spotted the man. “Hey, fuck off, you pervert! You want her, come by Madame Rose’s tomorrow.” The man didn’t move or respond. “Fine, buddy, if you really wanna watch, that’ll be fifty.”

The man looked past Jimmy, making eye contact with her. He was unreadable, almost blank, his dark eyes sharp. Like he was looking for something, but she didn’t know what. She wanted to scream again, ask him to help her, tell him to call the police. “Help me,” she tried to say, but when she moved her lips, no sound came out.

He shifted his gaze up, and reached into his pocket. 

Paolo laughed behind her. “Yeah, sure, whatever gets you off…” But the man didn’t pull out a wallet. It was something else, silver, dangling? A necklace? No...a pair of dog tags. “Shit,” Paolo swore, and she could hear a little panic in his voice. “He’s a Tag.”

“Ah, fuck,” said Jimmy. “Let the girl go.” As soon as Paolo let her go, Jimmy was grabbing her arm and shoving her toward the man. He had his hand on something hanging from his belt, not a gun...a sword?

“Hey, man, you want her, take her,” stammered Jimmy, giving her another shove. “She ain’t worth a fight, man.”

June stumbled forward, looked up, caught the man’s eyes again. He looked at her, then past her, and then his lips curled in a predatory smile. He unsheathed the sword (what kind of fever dream was she trapped in?) and started to move, and he closed the distance  _ so fast.  _ When he reached her, she screamed and threw her bound hands up in front of her, closing her eyes at the last moment. There was nothing, and then...she felt something, soft, like a brush of wind against her wrists, and then he was past her, and she could hear Jimmy and Paolo screaming.

It was over before she could turn around. She heard sounds she didn’t want to match with images, sharp, wet sounds, screams that turned to coughing gurgles. Halfway through her turn, drops of something wet and hot spattered across her arm and up to her face. She didn’t want to think about what it was, couldn’t think about what it was.

And then she was looking the strange man in the eye for the third time. The bone structure of his face suggested he had asian ancestry, and his eyes were a dark, nearly black shade of brown. She noticed this while she tried not to look at the blood. The blood on his face, the sword, the cargo pants. She started to look down, around him, at the red, the bodies...the body  _ parts _ , all in different places than they should be…

The man gave a firm grunt, drawing her attention back to him. He shook his head no, then pointed at his eyes with two fingers. Don’t look there. Look at me. 

Her legs gave out anyway. She hit the street hard, and the stone scraped her legs. He shrugged, then walked towards her. She went to hold up her hands again, and it was only then that she saw the tape that had bound them was neatly cut. That feeling of something brushing against her wrists...he’d cut the tape? She didn’t even have a scratch... She was still looking at her hands in surprise when he picked her up under both arms and brought her to her feet, not roughly but...unceremoniously.

“I…” she tried to say something, but she didn’t know exactly what. Without a word, he took her by one arm and started walking briskly away from the car and the bodies. She stumbled and then fell into step with him. He wasn’t much taller than her, but he still walked quickly enough that she almost struggled to keep up with his stride.

“Where...where are you taking me?” She asked. He made no response, looking straight ahead when she looked up at him. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified. Had he rescued her...or was he just taking them up on their offer?  _ You want her, take her _ .

“W...what’s your name?” She tried another question, looking around, trying to take in her surroundings, see if she recognized anything. Still no answer.

It wasn’t long before they came to a flight of stairs. He led her up the stairs and to a door, which he unlocked. She offered no resistance when he pulled her inside. His grip was very strong, and besides, where else would she go?

The room they entered looked like a cross between an office and living room; couch and chairs against one wall, cork board with notes, a rack of men’s shirts and jackets on another wall, but everything centered around a large wooden desk with a radio, a rotary phone, and a notepad. The man opened a door immediately to their right and gently pushed her inside. It was a tiny bedroom, and she felt herself go cold.  _ You want her, take her. _

“I…” she backed away a little, which only brought her further into the small room. “Listen, I...I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not...I’m not a prostitute; those men kidnapped me, I think they drugged me…” Now, finally, the panic came. She stammered, backed away further, looking around the room with wide eyes, trying to find an exit that didn’t require going through the strange man with the sword. She felt him put his hands on her shoulders before she saw him move, and gave a little yelp.

“Look at me when you talk,” he said, the first words she’d heard him speak. “Speak more slowly. I can’t understand you.” His voice was a surprise; gruff, to match his demeanor, but there was something else. He spoke with some difficulty, like he had a speech impediment of some sort, or… _ Look at me when you talk. Speak more slowly. I can’t understand you.  _ Suddenly the silence started to make sense. He was deaf. He hadn’t ignored her questions while they were walking. She’d been looking in the wrong direction. He hadn’t seen them.

“You read lips?” She asked. He nodded. “I…I...” she took a breath, made herself speak more clearly. He let his hands fall from her shoulders once she started to try and calm herself down. “I’m not a prostitute. Those men kidnapped me. I can’t remember anything. I think I was drugged.”

He nodded, face still impassive. “I know. Get some rest,” he nodded to the bed again. “Be back later.” And then he was gone, closing the door behind him. She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d just brought her here to rest. Just to rest. Maybe he was a rescuer, after all. She heard the sound of footsteps on stairs, and thought that really, she could just leave. Just slip quietly out the front door. But she still didn’t know where she was, so where else could she go? This man...she didn’t even know his name; she’d forgotten to ask a second time. This man was frightening, but he’d saved her from something terrible. And he might be safer than wandering the streets of an unfamiliar city, all alone.

In the end, she was still too shaken, too confused from whatever they’d given her, to resist the offer of a bed. She thought she might be too nervous to sleep, but she was unconscious before her head hit the pillow.

###  ***

June was dreaming. A faceless man in a bar. A friend who had promised to watch her drink for her. The back of a car. An unfamiliar city.

“Excuse me, miss?”

A hand on her shoulder jolted her out of sleep. She was in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, looking at an unfamiliar face, and she cried out and scrambled backwards.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” The man wore an eyepatch over one eye and a sheepish smile. He was tallish and broad shouldered, with shaggy blonde hair tied back loosely, and wore a blue button-down shirt. A shoulder holster over the shirt matched the tough-guy look of the eyepatch. It was empty, at least. She didn’t recognize him. He should have been intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was so much warmer than the man with the sword and the unreadable eyes.

“It’s just that, well, you’re in my bed. Did Nicolas hire you? Not like him, but...would be just like him to use my bed.”

“I…” she started to respond. How had she gotten here? But her mind was clearer now, and it all came back in a flash. The two men.  _ She’s gonna need her mouth for the, uh, interview.  _ The man with the sword.  _ If you want her, take her _ . All the blood.

“Is Nicolas...Is that the man with the sword?”

“Ah, he didn’t even tell you his name? Rude.” He sat down on the bed beside her. “Well, I don’t want to rush you, but I’ve been working today, too, and I’d really like my bed back. I could use a nap.”

“No, I, um, I mean...He didn’t...I’m not...he didn’t hire me, he…”

“Ah,” he looked at her, brows furrowing, puzzled. “Well, how did you end up in my bed?”

“I...I don’t know,” she did, and also, she didn’t. She knew the end, but not the beginning. “I don’t know, maybe Papa Bear’s bed was too hard, and Mama Bear’s bed was too soft, maybe, I don’t...”

He reached out and touched her cheek. She jerked away. 

“Is that…? That’s not your blood, is it?” He looked at her, concerned now. She shook her head. He followed the blood down her arm and tank top to where the duct tape still dangled, forgotten in her exhaustion. “Shit. What has Nic gotten himself involved in, now?”

She reached up and brushed little flakes of dried blood from her cheek. The silver dog tags. That predatory smile. All that blood.

“He...he saved me, I think. I…” she looked at the man. He looked kind, she thought. “I think I was kidnapped. They drugged me. I can’t remember anything. I just woke up in a car, and they pulled over, and these two men...they…” she didn’t want to remember, but everything else,  _ everything else _ , was blank. 

“They said they were offering me a job, and this was the...the...the interview. They were holding me, and I screamed, and then there was this man with a sword. The men holding me were so  _ scared _ of him; they tried to give me to him, but he just smiled and...and… He saved me, but...all that blood…” 

She looked at the man, the fourth stranger since she’d woken, with wide eyes. “I can’t remember anything before then. I don’t recognize this city, but I don’t know where I came from, either. I can’t remember how I got here, who I was, where I’m supposed to be, I don’t…”

“Ahhh,” he nodded. “I get it now.” He said it like this wasn’t the first time he’d heard a story like hers. “Do you remember your name?”

“June,” she replied, not realizing she did until he asked.

He reached out with one hand, slower this time, like he was waiting to see if she’d flinch away again. “I’m Worick.” When she didn’t jerk away, he put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, June. Come on into the office with me, and I’ll find you a clean shirt. Mine won’t fit, but maybe Nic’s, he’s short…”

Worick looked up at the sound of footsteps on the staircase “Well, there he is. Come on.” He stood up and walked out of the small room, and she followed, hesitantly.

“Hey, Nic!” Said Worick when Nicolas looked up and saw them. He’d changed clothes and washed away the blood from earlier. Now he was wearing a black suit with a gray shirt and no tie. The dog tags dangled around his neck. “You can’t just bring home strange women and leave them in my bed.” Worick said it with a smile, not sounding particularly displeased. “What’ve you gotten us into, this time?”

Nicolas replied in sign language. Worick signed something back, and June just watched them. Worick didn’t bother translating what he was saying. Or maybe he did it intentionally. These were strangers, and she reminded herself not to get too trusting just because Worick was the nicest of the strangers she’d met that day. It wasn’t a very high bar. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Worick said, aloud. She supposed that meant it was meant for her to hear. “We should take her to Dr. Theo. I was just going to see if I could find her a new shirt. I’ll be right back.” He headed for the hall with a staircase that Nicolas had just emerged from. Before he got there, Nicolas grabbed his arm and signed something. “Yes, I’m taking one of your shirts. You ruined two of mine this month, and mine won’t fit her anyway. Besides, who’s responsible for getting blood all over her?”

Worick walked down the stairs, and June was left alone with Nicolas. She watched him until he shrugged and turned away from the stairs, meeting her eyes. She looked down reflexively, then up again. His eyes were still unreadable.

“Um...hi,” she said. “Your name is Nicolas, right? I’m June.” He was watching her speak, and she was pretty sure he understood, but he still didn’t respond. “Thank you,” she continued. “For...for getting me out of there. And for bringing me someplace safe. I...sorry, I don’t know how to sign. Can you understand me okay?”

He gave a small nod and a soft grunt, and she thought it might be all the acknowledgement she was going to get.

“Were you...in the military?” She searched for something to say, and she did wonder about the dog tags.

Nicolas shook his head, and then picked up the dog tags on their chain, holding them out to dangle for her to read.  _ He’s a Tag,  _ one of the men who’d kidnapped her had said, fear in his voice. She walked closer, curious.  _ Nicolas Brown,  _ the first one read. A blood type, but no birthdate. Affiliation: Mercenary. The other one had much larger printing, just a letter and a number: A/0. It didn’t look like any dog tag she’d seen.

“Oh, a...a mercenary?” She tried to keep any reaction out of her expression, but...at least some of the people who joined the military did it for good reasons. Or at least she thought they must. But a mercenary...that was someone who committed violence for hire, for money, for a career, wasn’t it? Why? Because they were good at it? Because they liked it?

“What does A/0 mean?” She asked, moving forward rather than revealing any of her thoughts. Maybe it was an invasive question, but he’d taken out the tags to show her.

Nicolas only smiled, and it was the same smile as the first time she’d seen him. Dark. Predatory. Without thinking, she found herself taking a step back. Nicolas let the tags drop back to his chest.

“Getting along?” Worick called from the top of the stairs, his cheerful voice a stark contrast to the atmosphere that had gotten slightly tense while he was gone. “Here you go, June,” he tossed her a bundle of cloth; it turned out to be a black, long-sleeved tee shirt, similar to the one Nicolas had worn earlier. “Best I could find. You can use my room to change.”

She nodded and did as he said. When the door closed behind her, she took a moment just to breathe. She set the shirt on the bed to change, eager to get out of at least some of the clothes that were not hers, that they must have dressed her in…

She had the sudden, disorienting feeling of knowing the clothes were wrong, but not being able to picture what she would ordinarily wear. Her hand went to her face. Did she even know...what she looked like? The room had no mirror, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she pictured a woman with curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a few too many freckles running across her nose. That was her, she thought. That was what she looked like. She reached up and ran her hand through tangled curly hair, and felt relieved.

She pulled off the tank top and, looking around, tossed it into a hamper in the corner of the small room. Nicolas’ shirt was too big, hanging off her, but she wasn’t swimming in it. When she came back out a moment later, Worick and Nicolas were signing together.

“Um, Worick?” She asked quietly. 

“Mhmm?” He turned to her. “Not so bad, but we’ll have to find you something that fits.” It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the shirt.

“Could you tell me...where am I?”

“This is District Eight,” he answered.

“But...District Eight of where?”

“Oh,” he smiled. “Of course. You’re not from around here. Welcome to Ergastulum, June.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. “This is...this is Ergastulum?” She knew where Ergastulum was, even if she couldn’t remember how she’d learned. Part city-state, part prison colony, a walled city in Southern Europe, so she’d been right about the region, at least. Several mafia families held more sway than the government. Some of the citizens were criminals and political exiles, and many were affiliated with the mafia, although others were just unlucky enough to have been born there. There was something else, something about mercenaries and a series of past conflicts, but she couldn’t call it up to her mind. It wasn’t her home; she wasn’t used to the cobblestone streets she’d walked on, or the Mediterranean sky. She wondered why she knew so much about it, considering how unfamiliar she felt.

“I don’t...I don’t think this is where I...where I came from.” It was hard to describe the feeling. She couldn’t say where she lived, where she grew up, where she came from. She could only look around her, think of her knowledge of the city, and think: This isn’t it.

“No, it’s not,” said Worick, easily, like he’d already figured it out. “I don’t recognize you. And you’ve got a funny accent. I can’t place it. Don’t worry; Dr. Theo knows all the drugs the pimps use these days. He’ll figure out what they gave you, and how to start getting your memory back. But…” he sighed. “I have to get back to work. I skipped my nap just for you, you know.” When he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but give a small smile back. “Nic,” he put his hand on the other man’s shoulder to get his attention. “Could you take June down to see Dr. Theo? I wouldn’t want to send her alone, after everything she’s been through.”

Nicolas replied in sign. She couldn’t understand, of course, but it came clear in Worick’s response.

“Well, of course she’s a little scared of you. She just watched you take apart a couple of people, didn’t she? She’s not from Ergastulum. I don’t think she’s used to that kind of thing like we are.” He looked over to June and winked. “Don’t worry June. Nicolas doesn’t hurt innocent women.”

There was no menace to the statement. Worick said it as if he genuinely meant it to be reassuring, when all it did was confirm that Nicolas  _ did _ hurt people, sometimes. Was Worick a mercenary, as well? Who  _ were _ these men?

Nicolas made a small, disgruntled noise, and walked across the room to the door, opening it and gesturing for June to come with him. She followed, hesitantly at first, but Nicolas was moving at a brisk pace, so she had no choice but to hurry to catch up with him, if she was going to go with him at all.

“Thank you for taking me,” she said when she caught up to him. “I’m sure I’d get lost on my own.” The city was full of narrow, winding streets, and Nicolas seemed to be picking a path out of the back alleys and smaller streets. She wondered if that was because it wasn’t a good idea to go out on the main roads wearing a sword. This was Ergastulum, though. Maybe it was just a shortcut.

Nicolas didn’t respond, and she didn’t press it for a while. She couldn’t quite tell if he’d seen her talking or not. As they walked though, as her mind got clearer, she started wondering what exactly she was going to do next, after she met “Doctor Theo.” Was he even a real doctor? Maybe…

“Nicolas,” this time she touched his arm to get his attention, and he stopped and turned to her. “I think, maybe...I think you should take me to the police station first. Ergastulum has a police department, doesn’t it?” With everything she knew about the city, she hoped so.

Nicolas seemed honestly surprised by her request, but before he could respond, a high-pitched voice rang out exuberantly.

“Nico!”

She looked up to see a brown-haired girl running toward them, arms outstretched. She looked to be about thirteen; petite, but with long limbs that she hadn’t quite grown into yet. Her eyes were bright and she smiled widely. As June watched, she ran up to Nicolas and leapt straight into his arms. Nicolas spun her in a circle as she laughed, then set her down and gave her a pat on the head. June watched with some surprise; his expression didn’t change, not even a smile, but...those eyes couldn’t be as cold as they seemed, not if he had this kind of gentleness in him.

“What’s wrong, Nico?” asked the girl. She signed as she spoke. “You’re not out of Celebrer again, are you? Dr. Theo really wasn’t lying when he said he’d cut you off if you keep using it so fast.”

_ Celebrer _ . The word pinged in her mind, a feeling of recognition. A drug name, obviously. She recognized it, but couldn’t think of what it was.

Nicolas shook his head, nodded towards June, then began to sign. The girl watched him nodding periodically, only interjecting once to ask, “Like the month?” 

“Oh,” the girl said when he finished, “another kidnapping victim.” She turned to June.

Another?

“Nico says he found you this morning, and that you don’t remember anything except your name. And that your name is June, like the month. Oh, I’m Nina. I’m training to be a nurse with Dr. Theo.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it.” June nodded to affirm what Nicolas had said. I didn’t feel like it really summed up the whole story, but it was all that Nina needed to know.

She didn’t know what to think of Nina’s declaration that she was training to be a nurse. It would have been a stretch to imagine she was even in high school. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a simple summer dress and Mary Jane's with knee high socks, which made her look younger, if anything. Maybe it was more like an internship. June wasn’t going to argue, anyhow. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Nina,” she said. “I’m hoping Dr. Theo might be able to help me figure out...what happened to me.” She realized that Nina’s sudden appearance had distracted her from her decision to go to the police first. Well, she supposed she’d go inside the clinic, and if it looked legitimate enough, she’d ask the doctor to get in touch with them.

Nina smiled at her. “Don’t worry. Dr. Theo’s seen all the kidnapping victims. He’ll take care of you.” Nina took her hand and started to lead her toward a building with a red cross marked above the door. Nicolas followed behind.

The clinic was a little bit run down, but seemed well-stocked. It seemed like Nina and Dr. Theo were the only employees. Dr. Theo himself was a man with the kind of calculating deadpan she thought might fit a scientist better than a doctor. He looked to be in his thirties, if a little world-weary. He took her to one of the beds and pulled the curtain, and once he confirmed that she wasn’t injured, he asked for a blood sample. She nearly refused. So many strange things, strange people, and all so fast. He was a doctor, she told herself. He looked like a doctor, and acted like a doctor. She told him her story while she ignored the needle in her arm.

“I’ve seen this before, although only recently,” he confirmed, pressing a piece of gauze to the tiny prick in her arm. “The local pimps--the ones whose girls aren’t working voluntarily--use drugs called TBs. They start slipping it to the women before they realize what’s going on. It causes memory loss, and a general sense of brain fog and dissociation. By the time they realize what’s happening, they barely remember where they came from. It makes them easier to manage, less likely to run.”

“I don’t feel foggy, though,” she said. “I did when I first woke up, but now...I just can’t remember.”

He nodded. “Yes, what happened to you is different. Lately they seem to have moved from local trafficking to kidnapping girls from outside the city. They use what I believe is a combination of a high dose of TBs and at least one other drug to cause a loss of consciousness and much more rapid onset memory loss. They take girls who aren’t local, so that no one will recognize them. Even though the dissociation isn’t as pronounced, once they have the girls, they can easily get them on regular doses of TBs. It doesn’t seem to be working as well as they expected, though; you’re the third one I’ve seen escape this month.”

“Is there an antidote? Or a treatment” she asked. Her memories were like a gaping hole that was just outside her vision. If she stopped thinking about it, she didn’t notice, but as soon as she asked herself a question: How old am I? Where do I live? Do I have any friends?--There it was. 

He shook his head. “I haven’t determined what other drugs they’re using, yet. The good news is that users of ordinary TBs do regain their memories gradually when they stop using the drug. The bad news is that this new formulation seems to have a more prolonged effect. The first patient I saw with a story like yours was two months ago. She’s recovering bits here and there, flashes. But not enough to determine who she is or where she came from. Seems like they’ve been smart; we haven’t been able to match anyone to a missing person’s report so far. And it’s hard enough to get out of Ergastulum when you know who you are and where you came from. Without proof that you aren’t a resident, it’s even more difficult.” She remembered that; the borders of the city were heavily guarded.

She knew her disappointment was clear; she could feel her shoulders sag.

“I  _ do _ think you’ll get your memories back, June,” said Dr. Theo. “It’s just going to take time. Do you have a place to go, in the meantime? Will you be staying with the Handymen?”

“The Handymen?”

“Nicolas and Worick. I supposed you’ve only just met them. They do...odd jobs.”

She heard the soft, metallic sound of the curtain being moved aside as Nina peered in. “Of course Nico and Worick will let her stay with them,” she said with a grin. “They always help people in trouble, like June. Oh!” She put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening in! It sounded like you were almost done, and I didn’t want you to worry that you wouldn’t have anywhere to stay.”

June couldn’t help but smile in response to the girl’s enthusiasm. “Did Nicolas say I could stay with them, or did you decide for him?”

Nina looked a little sheepish, stepped away, and then returned with Nicolas. “Nico, can June stay with you and Worick until her memories come back?” She signed as she spoke.

Nicolas looked from Nina to June, paused, and then shrugged and nodded his head before starting to sign.

“He says you can sleep on the couch, but you have to give the shirt back as soon as you get some more clothes,” Nina translated. “And wash it first.”

“Oh,” June paused, the response somewhat unexpected. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

Nicolas only responded by gesturing for her to come with him.

“Just a moment,” said Dr. Theo. “I have a prescription for you. TBs aren’t harmful in the long term, but they do have withdrawal symptoms. Feelings of confusion and anxiety come and go, along with hallucinations connected to the period when the drug was taken.

“Hallucinations?” She repeated softly. Everything was already so confusing. She still wasn’t fully convinced she wasn’t dreaming right now. The last thing she needed was to start seeing things on top of it.

Dr. Theo nodded. “They’ll fade in time. Just...try to be aware.” He paused and went to rummage in a cabinet. He pulled out a large bottle, counted out pills into a smaller orange prescription bottle. “If you start to feel very anxious, or feel like you’re getting lost in your memories, try to take one of these before you go too far into it.” He pressed the bottle into her hands. “Maximum of three a day. Call me if it gets too bad, or if you have any other symptoms. And I’ll get in touch if I find out anything more. The Handymen are patients of mine. I’ve got their number.”

He stood, and she followed suit, but then paused. “Nina, Nicolas,” she turned to make sure Nicolas could see her, “Could I ask Dr. Theo one more question, in private?” 

Nicolas gave a grunt and a nod and backed away, while Nina was more apologetic. “Oh, of course, sorry for barging in!”

June turned back to Dr. Theo. He was watching her, waiting for her question. “I should...I should report this to the police, shouldn’t I?” It was worrying that no one seemed to think of it.

Dr. Theo sighed. “I’ll make a report, and I’m sure they’ll get in touch with you eventually. The police here are understaffed and underfunded, and mostly on the take. I know the detective who’s working the case, and he’s a good man, but he’s overwhelmed. They’re working the case, but I wouldn’t count on them to figure out who you are and get you out of here too quickly.

“Okay,” she said. She couldn’t hide her disappointment, but it was basically the response she’d been expecting. “Dr. Theo, um...these ‘Handymen,’ Worick and Nicolas...will I be safe there, in the meantime?” 

Dr. Theo laughed softly and shook his head in response. “I’m sorry, June, but no place is really safe, here in Ergastulum. But if you’re asking if  _ they’re _ safe...then yes. Worick and Nicolas are as close as you get to good men, in a place like this.”

“What about you?” She asked on impulse. She didn’t have any reason to trust Dr. Theo, not any more than she had to trust the others, but maybe it was the title. A doctor. Do no harm.

“I do the best I can,” he answered. “But I don’t have a free couch at the moment.”


	2. Two: The Handymen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June spends a strangely ordinary evening with the Handymen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first draft of this chapter before I read the manga, and was very excited to find out that my headcanons about Nicolas' cooking ability were correct.

The walk back to Nicolas and Worick’s building was as quiet as the walk to Dr. Theo’s. Nicolas walked fast enough that June kept falling behind, so that it was hard to try and talk to him within his field of vision. She spent most of the time looking around at the city, anyway. It was actually a beautiful place, with little winding alleys and small shops, and stands selling fresh fruit and vegetables along the streets. It would have looked like someplace that would attract tourists if it weren’t for the prostitutes and drug dealers frequenting the alleyways.

When they got back to the apartment, Nicolas gestured toward the sofa and headed for the stairs.

Suddenly, the thought of being alone felt overwhelming. She was in a strange place, in a strange city, and when she tried to remember anything beyond the last twelve hours, there was nothing but a blank. “Um, Nicolas, wait,” she said, before realizing he probably couldn’t see her. She almost had to jump forward to catch up with him, but she managed to touch his arm just as he stepped onto the staircase.

He paused, one foot on the first stair, and turned to her. He looked at her impassively, not even a question in his expression. It took her a moment to remember what she was going to say.

“Nicolas...could you, um...could you stay upstairs for a while? I...don’t want to be alone.”

For a moment, there was no response. Then he grunted softly and gave a small nod, stepping back up to the main floor. He pointed to the clock they had sitting on the desk. It read just after six in the afternoon. He held up his hands. Seven fingers.

“‘Til seven? Okay,” she responded, but he didn’t wait to see it. As she spoke, he walked to the bookshelf and pulled out a book, then went to lean on the wall by the window. He flipped the book open, and it sent a pretty clear message that he wasn’t interested in talking, so she sat down on one of the couches that bordered the coffee table and started to look around the room. 

It was spartan, really. The coffee table was clear. A rotary phone, a notepad, and a pen sat on the desk. Hanging behind the desk were a whiteboard calendar and a corkboard with an assortment of notes pinned to it. Racks on either side held men’s clothing; button down shirts, black blazers, a warmer coat. She guessed one belonged to each of the men, but the clothes seemed similar. There was a dartboard on the wall with the doors to Worick’s bedroom and the stairs, and next to it was the only decoration in the room: a woman posing in an outfit made mostly of string and pasties. June raised her eyebrows at it.

There was the bookshelf, but taking a book felt...a little too much like making herself at home, somehow.

She made it until quarter to seven before she decided to try and talk to Nicolas again. She walked over and leaned on the wall, on the opposite side of the window from Nicolas, waiting for him to react so she’d know he’d noticed her. His eyes moved to her, then back to the book, and that was it.

“Thank you, again,” she said, to no response. “I want you to know that...I’m not afraid of you.” He gave a soft laugh, the strongest indication she’d had that he was paying attention all day. “I mean...I probably am a little scared of you. But I know you won’t hurt me. I just want you to know that I don’t think you’re...someone who would hurt me.” She didn’t know why exactly she felt the need to say it. Maybe it was because Nicolas had apparently told Worick she was scared of him. She wondered what it would feel like to rescue someone from a terrible situation, only to have them be frightened of you in turn.

“It’s just...I’ve never seen anyone die before. Or at least, I’m pretty sure I haven’t. And...the sword, and the blood...” The memories came back, even though she hadn’t intended them to. The  _ sound _ of it, the screams that cut off into wet nothingness, how the blood that hit her face was  _ warm _ , and when she turned to Nicolas, splashes of it had run across his shirt and across his face…

She felt a finger tap her on the nose, and it was like a light switch that brought her out of the horrible scene and back to the apartment. She watched as Nicolas pointed at his eyes with two fingers, the same gesture he’d made before. Look at him, not the blood, not the bodies, not the horror. Focus on him. Stay with him. So she did. She couldn’t find any more words, so she just sat there, looking into his dark, impassive eyes. He didn’t turn away, so they stayed like that, long enough for the image to fade, long enough for her to start to feel silly.

That was when Worick walked through the door. “I’m home!” He called out, cheerily. “What’s going on? Are you two having a staring contest or something?” June turned toward him, his joviality a shock after spending a few hours with Nicolas. “Nic always wins. June, I got you some clothes. What did Dr. Theo say?”

By then, Nicolas had set his book on the sill and started signing. Worick signed back, but only translated what he was saying aloud, not what Nic said. “Mhmm, that’s what we thought...oh good, so he gave her a prescription? If she’s still scared of you, why did I find you two gazing into each other’s eyes like lovebirds by the window? Oh, yes,” he turned back to her. “Of course you can stay with us, June. You’re short, so the couch should be fine for you, right?”

She nodded. “Thank you…” She wondered how the two men had ended up together. They seemed like such perfect opposites, one quiet, reserved, nearly expressionless, and the other bright and talkative.

Nicolas signed something else, and Worick nodded. “Hey, June, why don’t you come help me with dinner?”

“Alright,” she replied, and before she finished standing, Nic had picked his book back up and gone back to reading.

“C’mon,” said Worick. “Kitchen’s this way.” She followed him, and he headed down the staircase. She hadn’t seen the lower floor of the apartment. It was a large, windowless room that was mostly empty; a simple kitchen area ran along one wall, and another had a stock of boxes. The only furniture was a single, worn out armchair.

“Bathroom’s through there, by the way,” said Worick. There was a hall on the opposite side of the room with a door on each side, and he pointed to the left one. “You can use my shampoo. Nic only uses the cheap stuff.” He started opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients. “Think you can chop some vegetables for me? I know there’s not much counter space, but we’ll make do.”

He got her set up with a cutting board, a knife and some onions and peppers, and she went to work, only thinking about what she was doing a few minutes in. “Hey, I guess I can cook,” she said.

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” replied Worick. “Nic can’t cook to save his life. It’ll be nice to have someone around to help. Are you...are you remembering much?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I just do things...I go to chop vegetables and I know how, and it’s not until I think about it that I realize I don’t know why, I don’t remember how I learned, or the last time I cooked.”

He nodded. He was making what looked like a marinade for some chicken. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been hearing. Dr. Theo explained everything to you?”

June nodded. “He said, um…” The question had been there, hovering in her mind, but she hadn’t tried to ask Nic. He seemed like he didn’t like talking aloud very much. “He called you and Nicolas ‘the Handymen.’ Said you do odd jobs.”

“That’s us,” Worick affirmed. Even with the eye patch, he didn’t look too intimidating right then, moving around her in the kitchen, making dinner. The shoulder holster he’d been wearing when she first met him was gone, but she remembered it. And, of course, Nicolas and the sword.

“He didn’t mean odd jobs like, fixing things, did he?”

“Oh, I think all of our jobs are about fixing things,” Worick said.

“I meant, um…”

“It’s alright. I know what you meant. Sometimes we do those kinds of jobs. Just did some work patching up walls and painting last week. Anything for a paycheck, really.”

“But sometimes…”

“Sometimes we hurt people. Sometimes we kill them,” he said. “Does that bother you?

She’d already figured all of this out, but to hear him say it, so matter of factly...she stopped working on the vegetables and turned to look at him. There were faint wrinkles in his shirt where the shoulder holster had been. She couldn’t really imagine him with the gun, pulling the trigger, taking a life. He seemed so cheerful, so genuinely kind. That almost made it more frightening.

“No,” she lied.

“I wonder where you’re from, June,” said Worick. He’d stopped what he was doing and turned to her as well, and he was looking at her with a soft, sad expression. She was pretty sure he knew she was lying. “It must be someplace nice. Someplace people like me and Nic wouldn’t fit in, huh?

“Listen, don’t worry.” He reached out like he’d rest a hand on her shoulder again, then realized it was covered in marinade and stopped, shrugging sheepishly. “We’re not bloodthirsty. Every once in a while, we just need to take care of some assholes who don’t follow the rules of the city, like the people who kidnapped you. Not that this city has rules, anymore, but...look. I know you don’t have much reason to trust me, but you’re safe here.”

She didn’t know how to respond to Worick’s assurances. She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel that they only killed...what? Bad guys? Other criminals?

“Do you know much about Ergastulum?” He asked. “You’d seemed to recognize the name, when I told you.”

“I guess I do. I must have read about it. It doesn’t feel familiar. I know it’s partially independent. The government doesn’t really get involved; instead there are four families...no, there used to be four families. There was some kind of conflict last year, and now some of the city is contested...”

Worick nodded. “You know a lot, for someone who’s never been here before.”

“And…” The knowledge started to come back, and she was sure she must have studied it, because it had the feel of facts learned from books. The city was home to the Twilights. That was the missing piece. The descendents of soldiers and mercenaries who’d taken an experimental drug during a war, they were born addicted. They had the enhanced physical abilities that the drugs provided, but also the dependency, and were often born with other disabilities. The city was part sanctuary, part prison.

“Oh…” Things started to come together. The way Nicolas had moved. The incredible precision with which he’d used the sword, cutting the tape that bound her wrists without hurting her. The dog tags. The choice of a sword, in the first place, even his deafness…

All that blood. He’d saved her, but had he really needed to…?

They also said that Twilights were born killers. Not really human. Monsters.

“June? Are you alright? Did you remember something?” She didn’t realize she’d trailed off until Worick asked.

She set the knife down only to realize the vegetables were finished. She’d been working by rote while she talked to Worick. “Oh, these are done.”

“Oh, fantastic, thank you,” said Worick. “That’s all I have for you to do, but you’re welcome to stay while I finish up. Nic said you didn’t want to be alone, earlier.”

She nodded and stepped away from the counter, considering the worn chair before going to lean against the stair rail while. Worick cooked. “Worick...is, um...does ‘Tag’ mean...Twilight?”

“Mhmm,” said Worick. Like he was waiting for the question. “So, they know about Twilights, wherever you come from?”

“I guess they do,” she said. “Or  _ I _ do, at least.”

“What do they say about them?” He asked.

“Well, I remember that there was an experimental drug, back during the East-West War of Unification.”

“Hmm, Celebrer,” said Worick. The drug Nina had mentioned.

“And the descendents of the people who took it...they have abilities like the drug creates, but they’re born addicted. And people say they’re violent…monsters.”

“Yeah, people say that,” said Worick. “The tags are a warning.”

“But...they were used as slaves, weren’t they? After the war? They still don’t have full human rights. They’re confined to Ergastulum, and they’re still mostly limited to dangerous and violent jobs, so…”

“Definitely sounds like you read that in a book,” said Worick. “What do you think, now that you’re here in Ergastulum? I saw Nicolas show you his tags.”

“I think…” she thought that it hadn't been long enough since she realized what a “Tag” was for her to know what she thought. “I think a monster would have had no reason not to leave me with those men. Or kill me along with them.”

“You’re probably right,” said Worick. He sounded oddly non-committal for someone talking about his...friend? Business partner? They felt like friends.

“He keeps telling me that you’re scared of him.” He turned and gave her a wry, almost teasing smile when he said it, lightening the darker mood the conversation had fallen into.

“I’m trying not to be. I’m not, I just...also am. I was talking with him about it before you came back. Or at least, talking at him...will you teach me a few signs? If I’m going to be staying here, I should learn at least a little.”

“Oh,” he looked almost surprised when she asked. “Sure. Nic will pretend he doesn’t care, but he’ll appreciate it. Hmm…” he paused. “So what about me? Are you scared of me?” He said it teasingly, like he knew the answer would be no.

“Yeah,” she answered. It was true, although she was teasing back a little with the bluntness of her response.

“Oh?” He looked mildly shocked, maybe even a little worried. “I’m scary? I guess some people think the eye patch is scary, but I think I make up for it with my winning smile.”

“The first time I met you, you were wearing a shoulder holster and looked like you’d come from a prime time detective show. You literally just told me that you kill people for a living. And I’ve only known you for a few hours.”

“Hmm,” he seemed satisfied with her answer, pausing for a moment to consider. “This must really be frightening for you, huh?”

“I’m trying not to think about it.” Was the best response she could come up with, because, honestly, she wasn’t sure how she was holding up a conversation, why she wasn’t on the floor weeping.

“Well,” he said, returning to his usual chipper tone, “I guess I’ll just have to keep telling you that you’re safe with us until you know us well enough to believe it. Dinner’s ready.”

He made up a plate of the stir-fry and handed it to her, and then another for himself. She looked around the empty room, with its one chair.

“We don’t have a table,” said Worick, a hint of apology in his voice. “That’s Nic’s chair; he mostly uses this space to work out. He’s got a room across from the bathroom, but it’s too small. I usually eat at the desk, if you want to come upstairs with me.” She was glad she hadn’t picked the chair to sit in earlier. Nicolas seemed like someone who wouldn’t appreciate anyone else using his chair.

She followed Worick upstairs. He set his plate on the desk, and went over and tapped Nicolas on the shoulder. He signed a few words and Nicolas stood up, set his book down on the desk and walked downstairs.

June sat down on one of the couches and set her plate on the coffee table. She listened for Nicolas, but he didn’t come back upstairs.

“Should we wait for Nicolas?” She asked, only to notice Worick was already eating.

“Nah,” he said when he’d finished chewing. “We don’t really sit down and eat together. He’ll eat when he’s hungry. I don’t mind the company, though.” He flashed her another winning smile.

###  ***

That night, June couldn’t sleep. Or she could, but not for very long. As soon as she went deep enough to dream, she was in the backseat of that car again.  _ Hey there, princess...Don’t want to have to deliver you with bruises… _

She woke up with a little yelp each time, and by the fourth time, the office had started to feel big and unfamiliar and dark. She was alone, with no assurances she was really safe, only promises from people she’d just met that the criminals she was staying with wouldn’t hurt her. And she couldn’t go home, because she couldn’t remember where it was.

She stood up, wrapping the blanket Worick had used to make up the couch for her around her shoulders. She looked to his room for a moment. He’d been so kind; she was almost sure he wouldn’t mind if she woke him up, but…

She walked to the stairway instead. It was a strange decision; she was still wary of Nicolas. It wasn’t because he was a Twilight; she didn’t feel many preconceptions about what Twilights were like. It was because of what she’d seen him do; what she knew he was capable of. But that was also why she chose to go downstairs instead of waking Worick. From everyone else, all she had was words. Nicolas had done something, and however bloody and frightening it had been, he’d saved her.

Just enough moonlight leaked in from the office window for her to carefully make her way downstairs. Padding barefoot across the old carpet, she made her way to the door that Worick had said belonged to Nicolas’ room.

“Um, Nicolas? Nic?” She murmured. It only took her a few seconds to remember that, of course, he wouldn’t be able to hear her. But she wasn’t brave enough to actually open the door and try to wake him up. He probably wouldn’t appreciate it, anyway. He’d seemed grudging, at best, when she’d asked him to keep her company before, and now it was the middle of the night.

She turned to go back upstairs, but she couldn’t quite make herself return to the couch and the nightmares. Instead she sat down on the floor, against the opposite wall of the hallway, and then lay down. The floor was cold, and she curled up into the blanket to insulate herself from it. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she probably would have called herself ridiculous and gone back upstairs. She closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: Are there any canon images or descriptions of Nicolas bedroom? Does he have one? Does he sleep in the chair?


	3. Three: Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirting, flashbacks, and cigarettes (not in that order).

She woke to something gently prodding her shoulder, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Her eyes snapped open and she tried to sit up, but got caught up in the tangle of blanket around her. And then she looked up, and there was Nicolas, looking down at her, deadpan as always. He was wearing green cargo pants and a black sleeveless undershirt, and his hair looked like it was still wet from the shower. He poked at her shoulder with his bare foot.

“Oh, um, I…” She tried to think of a good explanation for why she was sleeping on the floor across from his room, but couldn’t quite put together the words. He signed something at her, then shrugged and walked to the stairs

She got up a moment after him and followed him up the stairs, wrapping the blanket back around her shoulders. Worick seemed to be just waking up as well when she got to the top of the stairs. He was standing in his doorway in gray pajama pants, yawning, looking like he was just about to start signing something when he noticed her and...stared. It took her moment to figure out why he was surprised, and then she realized what it might look like for her to be following Nicolas upstairs just after waking up in the morning, when Worick had left her asleep on the couch the 

“No, I, uh...I just couldn’t sleep by myself…” she stammered, feeling her cheeks go hot. “So I...I mean...I went downstairs and I fell asleep on the floor. _. _ ” She realized that Nicolas had been signing all the while she was talking, probably explaining the same thing. Worick’s face changed to understanding, then to a smile.

“Nic says you should be more careful, that he almost tripped over you. Listen, June,” he smirked at her. “If you ever get lonely at night, you can feel free to climb into  _ my _ bed…”

She froze where she stood, looking at Worick, his smile. Her mind flashed to Jimmy, the way he’d sneered at her, arrogant, like she was a thing and she was a thing he could just  _ take _ , and this…

This was not the same thing. His eyes were soft.

“Aww, don’t look at me like that. I was just joking,” said Worick.

But she still felt cold. “It’s fine,” she said, turning away from him, grabbing the bag of clothes he’d brought her off the coffee table and heading for the stairs. “I’m going to wash up.” 

She hurried down the stairs, turned the corner into the bathroom, checked for a lock on the door, locked it behind her. There was a toothbrush on the sink that Worick had given her last night, because she’d been in no condition to remember that she needed things like toothbrushes. He and Nicolas had been nothing but kind to her. But she was trying so hard to feel safe in a situation that obviously wasn’t, and comments like that, no matter how harmless, didn’t feel safe. Not now, when it was all  _ so close. _

She turned on the shower, because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She hadn’t even changed her clothes before she’d slept last night. Nicolas’ oversized shirt was almost a comfort, but the rest of the outfit wasn’t, and it felt good to shed it. She checked the water and then stepped in. 

She’d wiped the blood off her face yesterday, but as she stood in the shower, for the first time she felt like she could be  _ clean _ of it, Jimmy, the blood, the fear. She was still trapped in a strange and dangerous city, still couldn’t remember who she was or where she’d come from, so maybe it would all come back as soon as she got out of the shower, but just for a moment, she could feel clean of it.

Finally looking at the soap and shampoo, she noticed two bottles; one in a generic blue, the other a salon brand. She remembered Worick joking about how she could use his shampoo. She took a breath. She couldn’t say that Worick and Nicolas were kind people; not after learning what they did for a living. But they’d been kind to her, at least. It was going to be okay.

When she finally got out of the shower, she looked through the bag of clothes Worick had brought home. A tee shirt, two tank tops, a pair of shorts that was at least a little more substantial than the one she’d been given. A sundress, dark blue with a white floral pattern. It was pretty, but maybe for another day, she thought. He’d thought to get underwear and two bras. The size was right, and that he’d been able to guess that was not something she wanted to think about, but at least they fit.

She settled on the slightly-more-substantial shorts and a red tee shirt. Still not her clothes. They didn’t have tags on them, and she wondered where Worick had gotten them. Borrowed, maybe. But at least they were clothes that she’d picked for herself. She took a breath, and finally felt like she could face Worick and Nicolas again. If they were still there.

Only Worick was waiting for her when she came back up the stairs. He was leaning against the desk, looking worried and somewhat embarrassed. He’d gotten dressed, at least. “I really didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “I didn’t think, well...I just flirt a lot. It’s kind of part of my job--my other job. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” she said. He hadn’t  _ scared _ her, not really. That’s not what the feeling was. Betrayal, maybe. A small betrayal of a fresh and tentative trust that he and Nicolas wouldn’t look at her the way Jimmy had.

Worick shook his head. “June, never in my life has a woman said ‘it’s fine’ to me when things were actually fine.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know everything about women.” Of course, he was right, but she couldn’t let the statement slide. “For instance, not every woman wants to be flirted with all the time.”

“Even from someone with looks like mine?” Worick said, and then his eyes widened as he caught himself. “Sorry, I… I’ll see if I can tone it down.”

She watched him card his fingers nervously through his hair, and she couldn’t help it: She laughed. “That...that’s going to be...hard for you, isn’t it?” She said through the laughter. 

She turned to see Worick smiling at her, tentatively, something softer than his previous grins and smirks. “You’re right, you know,” she said. “It’s not...it’s not fine.” She was still laughing, but the feeling in her chest started to change. “It wasn’t...it wasn’t even you,” she said, the mirth fading from her voice.. “It was just…the way he  _ looked at me. _ ” Like she was nothing. A prize. A piece of meat. 

“You know what’s really funny? I was just in the shower, and I felt like I could wash it off. Just wash it off, the way he looked at me, and...and...oh, god…” Suddenly, finally, the reality of everything started to catch up with her. Stress and exhaustion and fear, loneliness, uncertainty. Suddenly, she wasn’t laughing anymore. “And they...they tried to...they were going to…” The first sob wracked her body before the tears.

“Oh, god, they were going to, going to make me… and I couldn’t, I couldn’t...” She felt tears start to flow, hot down her cheeks, and couldn’t finish the sentence. Before she could take in another breath, she felt arms wrapping around her pulling her in.

“I know,” said Worick as he held her. “I know.” He was warm and he was there and he was real. She let her head rest on his shoulder as she continued to cry, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing until her hiccuping sobs calmed to gentler tears.

When she’d stopped crying, Worick pulled away.

“I...well, I need to catch up with Nic,” he said. “Do you think you’ll be alright on your own for a little while?”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “I’ll be fine--actually fine. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Alright,” he said. “Help yourself to the fridge. We should be back around lunch time.”

“Thank you, again,” she said. “Hey...what day is it?”

“Saturday, actually,” he answered. “But no rest for the wicked, huh?”

The statement felt a little bit too true, as she watched him get ready to go. First the shoulder holster went over his shirt, and then he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a gun. She wondered if she’d ever seen a gun outside of television. She didn’t think so. She knew she’d never held one, never fired one. She watched as Worick checked it, loaded it, and placed it in the holster. For a moment he looked like the prime time detective from when they’d first met. It felt surreal. But he wore his shirt without a tie, like Nicolas. He left the top few buttons undone, and when he covered the gun and holster with a black suit jacket, he looked more like...some kind of gangster, she supposed. Whatever it is that he was.

He stopped just as he got to the door. “Hey, while we’re out...do you think you could watch the phone? Shouldn’t be too busy today. Just answer, ‘Handymen,” take down who called, and the number if they give one.”

“I...I think I can do that,” she answered. The idea was...strange. Secretary for a couple of...well, criminals, it seemed like. But it felt good to be offered a task. Something to repay their hospitality, and maybe keep her busy as well.

“Fantastic! See you!” And then Worick was out of the door and she was alone.

She’d expected it to be difficult to be by herself, but in the daylight, after the shower and a change of clothes, maybe after finally breaking down and getting it out of her system, it didn’t feel quite so strange.

She found bread and jam in the kitchen, and a toaster in one of the cabinets. When she’d finished, she went and sat down at the desk. She straightened out the notepad and pen, idly. Two notes were already written.

_ 45 St. Laurent, 10:45--AM! _

_ 4:30--Marie _

She thought that the less she knew about Nicolas’ and Worick’s work, the better, and turned to a fresh page.

The phone didn’t ring. At first, she stayed attentive, sitting at the desk, poking at the notepad with the pen, cap still on, trying to pretend she was a secretary at...maybe a law firm, or something like that. An ordinary office. Eventually she moved to the window and watched the street for a while. That was fine until a loud argument between what she took to be a prostitute and her pimp broke out on the street below. She moved back to the desk. Still no calls. Maybe she was lucky, given what kind of calls might come in.

Finally, she put her head down on the desk. She couldn’t help herself. She’d been up half the night with nightmares, slept on the floor, and before that...she probably still had some drugs lingering in her system.

The phone was an old, rotary model. It was probably loud. It would wake her...

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she was jolted out of sleep by a loud ring. At least she’d been right about the phone waking her up.

“Hello? Um, Handymen,” she answered.

“Who is this?” Came a suspicious male voice.

“I’m June, I...I’m just answering the phone while the Handymen are out.”

“Ah, another secretary? Alright,” the voice sounded gently mirthful. She wondered what “another secretary” meant. Maybe they went through them quickly, in their line of work. “This is Marco Adriano,” the man continued. “Let Nicolas know that Miss Christiano would appreciate it if he could join Galahad on guard duty this Friday.” Bodyguard work? That wasn’t so bad. She was sure Nicolas could scare off most people just by wearing the sword.

“Okay,” she grabbed the notepad and started to write. “Would you like to leave a number for them to call back?”

“Just tell Worick to call us back at Bastard.” Bastard. Okay. This was a brave new world.

“Okay, he’ll call you back,” she said. “Um, have a nice day!”

The voice on the other end of the line laughed softly. “Of course. You too.”

If she didn’t want to fall back asleep, she was going to need a better way to occupy herself. So she decided to give the bookshelf a look. It was surprisingly eclectic. A number of the books were the kind of literature she would have expected to see in a college literature class: Tolstoy, Dickens, Joyce, Atwood, Achebe...Half of one shelf was taken up by mismatched paperback copies of Shakespeare, and another held an old encyclopedia. There was some non-fiction as well. Older books about European history, the East-West War, the region...

_ Ergastulum, Twilights, and the Three Laws.  _ She pulled the book off the shelf. She might as well learn more about the city she was stuck in. And...she wanted to know more about Twilights, from a reliable source. There were all sorts of rumors and urban legends about them, and she didn’t even remember the sources her knowledge came from. Every time she thought about Nicolas, her mind filled with contradictions, even after knowing him for only a day. Blood dripping from the sword. Him tapping her nose to bring her out her memories. How much Nina seemed to love him as he spun her in the air. That predatory smile.

She shook her head and opened the book. It was from ten years ago; that knowledge came with the realization that she at least knew what  _ year _ it was, which was a relief. Ergastulum was founded after the East-West War of Unification to house soldiers who had used the drug Celebrer, and then become to their descendents, known as Twilights. However, it was later, when rising prison populations caused the government to begin using the city to house convicted criminals, that it began to gain its reputation as a haven for organized crime.

The words came with a funny feeling of deja vu. She already knew these things, but it was more than that. She had the uncanny feeling that she had  _ read this book _ .

She set the book down on the desk and took a breath. That wasn’t strange, was it? It was a published book. Plenty of people had probably read it. But...she had been reading about Ergastulum intentionally. She must have been. This book wasn’t any kind of leisure reading. She was certain she’d never been here before, never met a Twilight, never seen dog tags like Nicolas’. But she’d been learning about it, before. And then someone had drugged her, kidnapped her, and taken her here.

Standing up from the desk, she walked downstairs and to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and try to stop thinking. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to remember. It was that she didn’t want to wonder and worry about things while she waited for them to come back. She leaned against the sink and closed her eyes, and then she heard the door open in the office.

“...buy you a new shirt when you buy me a new jacket…” Came a snatch of conversation. It was Nicolas' voice. Only the second time she had heard him speak. 

“Hey, the jacket was your fault, too,” protested Worick. “June? Are you still here?”

“Yeah!” she called back, and hurried back up the stairs. Nicolas and Worick didn’t look any worse for wear from whatever their job might have been. It was a relief; she’d half expected Nicolas to come back spattered with blood like when she’d first met him. 

They dressed almost the same, she realized. The only major difference was that Nicolas had his shirt buttoned higher, and the dog tags still hung from his neck. Well, they kept talking about ruining each other’s shirts. Maybe they shared. She wondered how long they’d been partners.

“Any calls?” Asked Worick.

“Just one,” she answered. “I took down a note.”

“Marvelous. Hmm, reading on the job?” He picked up the book from the desk.

“Oh, well…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said with a smile. “You can do whatever you want, as long as you answer the phone when it rings. This one is pretty dry, though.” He set it back down. June nodded. She didn’t mention what she’d remembered, and wasn’t quite sure why.

“Hey, Nic,” Worick turned to him and started signing. June noticed, for the first time, that Nicolas was carrying a pair of attaché cases, one in each hand. He set them down so he could respond.

“Uh-uh, I’ll take east. I’m out of cigarettes,” Worick responded. Nicolas shrugged and pushed one of the cases toward Worick with his foot.

“We’ve got deliveries on two different sides of town. June, want to take a walk with me?” Worick asked, brightly. “Or you could go with Nicolas, if you’d rather.” Nicolas shook his head no, and Worick pretended not to notice. “But if you come with me, I’ll buy you lunch, and I happen to know that Nic’s broke right now.”

After the slow morning, getting out of the office sounded like a wonderful idea. And she wanted to see more of the city--at least, with someone familiar with it to keep her from going anywhere dangerous. “What about the phone?”

“It’ll be fine,” said Worick. “You said there was only one call this morning. And usually we don’t have anyone to answer at all.” It was pretty clear that he either wanted company, or thought she wanted company, or both.

“Alright,” she said, stopping to put on the strappy heels that were the only shoes she had. The heels felt wrong. If she was here much longer, she’d have to work up the courage to ask Worick to get her some flats.

“Okay, let’s go,” Worick had picked up the case, and started to usher her out of the door as soon as her shoes were on. “I haven’t had a cigarette since yesterday morning, and I’m starting to feel jittery.”

“Bye, Nicolas,” she turned just as she was going out the door so that he could see her speak. He didn’t respond, but his expression was just a little bit softer than usual.

They walked quietly for a while. June looked around the city, trying to make it seem familiar, just to  _ have _ something familiar. Or at least, to pretend she was on a nice vacation somewhere.

“Didn’t want to leave you alone for too long, after this morning,” Worick said, after a few minutes of walking.

“Oh, it’s really okay,” she said. “If it happens again, I’ll just kick you.”

“Duly noted,” he said. “I worried you were...remembering. Not the good memories. I’ve...I guess I haven’t seen this new stuff, but a good friend of mine went through TB withdrawal, and it was pretty rough.” He paused, and then seemed to intentionally brighten his expression and adjust his tone. “Oh, I don’t want to scare you, or anything. I’m sure one dose won’t be bad at all, compared to years of the stuff. But...if you start to feel confused, or think maybe you’re seeing things, let me know, okay?”

“Dr. Theo mentioned hallucinations. I hope that doesn’t happen. It was just one dose, like you said. I would really...really rather not start seeing things.”

He nodded. “I hope so, too.”

“Do you really smoke? You know that stuff will kill you, right?” She asked, on impulse. It was none of her business, but she wanted to change the subject, and she was honestly surprised. No one smoked anymore, did they?

He shrugged in response. “Plenty of other things will kill me faster. Is smoking unusual, wherever you come from?”

“It must be. Hey, I thought you were some kind of ladies’ man. Women don’t go for smokers any more, you know.” She let just a hint of a tease into her tone. Worick seemed okay, but men who thought they knew everything about women tended to annoy her.

“I really think you must be from someplace nice, June. Maybe you live in a house with a little yard and a picket fence.” The way he said it wasn’t insulting. More wistful. Like he was imagining a place he’d never seen. “This is Ergastulum. All the women smoke, too.”

She laughed and shrugged. “Your lungs.”

They kept walking. It was hard to find things to talk about. Without her memory, June had nothing to share. And every question she thought to ask Worick--How did you come be a gun for hire? Why does Nicolas use a literal samurai sword? Why do you seem so kind when I know you hurt people for a living?--she decided she wasn’t ready for an answer.

Eventually they came to a stone staircase tha zigzagged up to a sort of pedestrian bridge. She didn’t see a shop, but Worick headed for a window in the side of the nearest building. “This is Granny Joel’s,” said Worick, walking up to the window. It slid open, and an elderly woman, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and with white hair up in a bun, came to the front.

“Worick, back already? You smoke too much,” said the woman, with the practiced grumpiness that some people cultivated as they got older. “Who’s this, hmm?” She looked June up and down. “Another prostitute? Haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m not…” June started to speak.

“Granny, this is June,” Worick said, patiently. “She’s not a prostitute. She’s one of the kidnapping victims. Nic found her yesterday.”

“Hmmph,” Granny Joel replied. “You  _ would _ be tangled up in that, wouldn’t you? You boys should stop taking in strays. Don’t you have enough to worry about as it is?”

“Don’t worry about Granny Joel, June,” said Worick, turning to her. “It’s just her brand. She has to act this way, or she could lose business. Her customers expect it now.” He turned back to Granny Joel. “Do you still carry books? June likes to read.”

“Hmmph, just some of those trashy romances the younger women like to read,” Granny replied sourly. “I keep them next to the Virginia Slims. Hardly qualify as books, if you ask me.” 

“Well,” said Worick, “June’s a young woman. Give me your most popular one. And a carton of cigarettes.”

She shuffled back to the shelves with a “hmmph,” and returned a moment later with a paperback and a green carton of cigarettes. “Cheap trash,” she set down the cigarettes, “and cheap trash.” The book was next. Worick paid, and as he said goodbye and turned to leave, Granny Joel called out.

“Hey, new girl!” June turned back around. “You be careful,” said Granny Joel. “I know all the women moon over Worick, but you don’t want to spend too much time with the Handymen. You figure out who you are, and get out of this city.”

“I…” she was a little taken aback. “I’m trying as hard as I can.”

When she turned back to Worick, he was leaning against the stone wall of the bridge. He’d set down the attaché case, and was in the process of opening the carton of cigarettes. He pulled out a pack, took one, put it in his mouth, and put the rest of the pack in his jacket. She leaned against the wall next to him.

He dug a lighter out of another pocket, one of the silver ones with the flip-tops, and lit the cigarette. Closing his eyes, he took a long drag, and the breath he let out was almost a sigh. 

“Worth it,” he said, opening his eye and smiling at June.

“Your lungs,” she said, again . “I’m getting tired of telling people I’m not a prostitute.” It was her turn to sigh. “Well, who knows? I can’t remember anything. Maybe I am.”

Worick laughed. “You’re not a prostitute.”

“How do you know? Can you tell?”

“What, do you want to be one? Because Big Mama and I go way back, and she’s always got rooms to fill.”

“No! It’s not that.” She felt a little blush rise to her cheeks.

“You want to make sure? Alright. The stuff you were wearing yesterday: did you have condoms in your pocket?” It was an oddly specific question, and one she honestly had to think about. Had there been anything in the pockets of the shorts when she took them off that morning?

“No,” she said finally.

“If you were a prostitute, you would have had condoms on you. Can you think of what you’d do if you went to work? What kind of place you’d go, looking for a john? What to do when you found one?

“No,” she shook her head. He was taking the question a lot more seriously that she’d expected.

“It’s like cooking yesterday. If you were a prostitute, you’d know how to be one.” He looked at her consideringly. “So, are you relieved?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess. It’s not...it’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with it. I just...don’t think I’d like it.”

He laughed again. “Do you think the prostitutes here enjoy their work?”

She didn’t have an answer to that. Instead she picked up the book Worick had bought for her, reading the title for the first time. “Look at this.” She held it up for him to see. “Why did you think I needed this?”

“‘The Viscount’s Mistress?” He read, raising his eyebrows. “Sounds like a good time.”

The rest of the afternoon was like being a background extra in a very peaceful sort of crime movie. She waited outside an unmarked steel door while Worick delivered the attaché case, and was relieved when he came back in one piece. He kept his word and bought her lunch, and the sandwich shop gave them a discount because Worick and Nic had apparently scared off some people trying to charge them “protection” fees. He pointed out sights as they walked, but because this wasn’t much of a tourist city, and Worick and Nicolas seemed to travel only by back alleys, the sights were more like: “we got hired to clean out an apartment here once, and they didn’t tell us the tenants were a couple of low-level thugs who hadn’t been informed they were being evicted yet,” and, “the Corsicans and the Monroes had a shootout here a couple of years back, and they still haven’t fixed the bullet holes.”

When they got back to the office, Nicolas was back already. He was holding the notepad from the desk, and when she walked in, he walked over to her and held it up with a small, gruff sound. He didn’t quite shove it in her face, but he was clearly demanding an explanation.

She looked at the paper, and for a moment she was as confused as Nicolas. That was the note she’d taken down earlier, but it was nothing but a series of odd little squiggles.

“Huh. I...well I remember the message, at least...” And as she spoke, the writing finally swam into meaning.

“Oh, it’s shorthand,” she said, with some relief that it wasn’t just a strange alien language, some bizarre side effect of the drugs they’d given her. “Here, I’ll rewrite it for you,” she took the notepad from Nicolas. “I...guess I know shorthand. I wrote it that way without even thinking about it. Huh. Maybe I was already a secretary.”

She quickly wrote out the translated message and handed it back to Nicolas. “I don’t want to know what any of this means, except, what kind of place is ‘Bastard’?”

“Oh, a job with the Cristianos? Excellent,” said Worick. “Actually, Bastard is a pretty classy place.”

###  ***

She slept better that night. The nightmares came a few times, but she managed to spend the night on the couch, which was a relief. Once might have been understandable, given the circumstances, but if she slept outside Nicolas’ door a second time it would have been honestly embarrassing.

The next day was calm. She answered the phone while the Handymen came and went. The rest of the time she spent looking out the window, or trying to get herself interested in  _ The Viscount’s Mistress. _ It wasn’t really her thing, but the literature on the bookshelves seemed like too much to concentrate on, and she was afraid that if she went back to the non-fiction, she’d find out she’d read more of it. Worick saw her reading the romance novel when he came back for lunch, and badgered her about whether or not she liked it in a sly tone until she told him to stop and reminded him he’d promised to tone it down.

When Worick and Nicolas returned from their last appointment, they almost felt like familiar faces. And they’d brought takeout. Nicolas was carrying it, so he couldn’t sign, but he looked at her when she said hello, and she took that as acknowledgement enough. He went downstairs the kitchen while June went over the calls with Worick.

“Okay,” she went down her notes. “You have three people to call tomorrow, and Dr. Theo says you owe him money.”

Worick sighed, not unhappily. “Don’t we always? Well,” he looked up at her from the notepad, “how was your afternoon, Princess?”

The notepad fell from her hands, forgotten.

_ Princess. _

_ Hey there, Princess. _

_ Alright, Princess, why don’t you get down on your knees for me? _

“No!” she shouted. “No! Get away from me!” She went to struggle against the duct tape, only to find that her arms were free, and so she launched herself forward, trying to get past Jimmy and away, away, away. He caught her by the arm.

“June, wait, it’s me!” Where was that voice coming from? It sounded so far away.

“Let go!” she cried, striking out with her free hand, fully intending to scratch his eyes out if she had to.

She heard running footsteps, and then the other man grabbed her from behind, pulling her away as she struggled. 

“No! No!” she screamed as he spun her around, pinning her arms to her sides in a grip that felt like iron. His face was nothingness, a blur she couldn’t make out.

“Nic, it’s okay, let me handle her!” The far away voice again

“Meds!” A second voice, strange and almost familiar, but just as far away as the other one. 

The man holding her let go of one of her arms and tried to bring his hand up, but she immediately tried to claw at his other hand. He grabbed her arm and held it at her side again. 

“Let go,” she said to the faceless man, starting to lose the energy for screaming. “Let go. No, no. Let go...” He did, just for a moment. He dropped both of her arms, but before she could get away, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her back until she was against a wall. He shifted to pin her with his forearm against her chest. “No, no, no…” she repeated, but she couldn’t get away. She still struggled, but she couldn’t get away.

The faceless man waved his free hand in front of her face, and she followed it automatically, confused. He pointed two fingers at her face, and then his own. Two fingers at her eyes, and then two fingers at his own dark eyes. Nicolas pointed two fingers at her eyes, and then at his own. Look at me. Focus on me. She stopped struggling, stopped crying out, and looked at Nicolas, trying to figure out what had just happened to her.

“June?” Nicolas asked.

The only thing she could manage was a nod. He let go of her, slowly like he was afraid she might still lash out, and stepped back when she only stood there and leaned against the wall for support.

“What happened?” She asked softly.

“Flashback. Hallucination,” came another voice. Worick’s voice. The office started to swim back into reality. “I think you thought we were the people who kidnapped you.”

“I...I didn’t know who you were,” she said to Nicolas, before turning to Worick, who was standing a few feet away, holding a glass of water and a prescription bottle. “And Worick, I thought you were…” She remembered seeing Jimmy, seeing his face and lashing out. “Oh, shit, did I…?”

“No, I’m alright,” he said, walking towards her slowly, like a sudden movement might still spook her. “You were pretty scary, but Nic saved me at the last minute.” He handed her the glass, then looked at the label on the prescription bottle, opened it, and handed her one pill. “This will help calm you down.” 

She nodded, then put the pill in her mouth, took a sip of water, and swallowed.  _ Nic saved me at the last minute _ . In her memories, it was still a faceless man, but she could think back now with the knowledge it had been Nicolas, holding her but never hurting her, trying to get her attention without letting go.

“Thank you, Nicolas,” she said. Nicolas signed in response.

“He says, ‘you’re welcome,’” said Worick.

That night, she ended up back on the floor outside of Nicolas’ room. It wasn’t just the dreams, this time. Before, when she’d had her flashback, she’d seen Jimmy’s face, and she was afraid of him appearing out of every dark corner. It was enough to outweigh any embarrassment she might have felt at sneaking down the stairs again.

When she woke, she was alone downstairs, but there was a second blanket laid over her that hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicolas signed: "What are you doing here? I almost tripped."
> 
> Characters like Worick just make me want to throw feminists at them.


	4. Four: Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dr. Theo is a little scary, Nicolas cooks, and Worick picks out a dress.

After a few days, life started to develop into a routine. Or, at least, something June thought could become a routine. Nicolas and Worick went in and out, mostly together, sometimes apart. She stayed in the office, watched the city through the window, and answered the phones. The job descriptions were oblique. Deliveries, collections, a little bit of bodyguard work. Never what was being delivered or collected, and only sometimes who was being guarded. Worick and Nic always understood whatever she didn’t from the information that she wrote down.

A week passed, and she remembered nothing. Occasionally she’d discover that she knew how to do something, like flip an omelet or make a very good paper airplane, but that was different than actually remembering. On the other hand, at least nothing particularly terrible happened. It seemed like a pretty big bright side, given her situation.

Friday morning, Worick was waiting at the desk when she came upstairs after showering.

“June,” he said. “I hate to ask, but I’ve got my other job today, and I need the office to myself.” She’d wondered what Worick’s second job was, but thought it might be better not to ask, considering what she already knew he did for his first job.

“Nic is working out all day today,” he continued. “How about you head over to Dr. Theo’s? If it’s not too busy, I’m sure Nina would be delighted to teach you a few signs. And...he might have some odd jobs for you. It would...help with that tab we’ve run up.” He smiled at her hopefully.

“Oh...okay. Yeah. I’d be happy to.” She didn’t think answering the phones was really paying for her share of the room and board they were providing her, so it seemed only fair.

“Marvelous. Do you remember the way? Nic’s already left.”

“Mhmm,” she answered, Worick had been taking her along on deliveries occasionally, presumably just to areas he considered safe, and she had the way to Dr. Theo’s--and Granny Joel’s--down pretty well.

She put on the flat sandals she’d finally asked for and went to collect her things, then realized she didn’t really have any things to collect. She tried to remember what she’d expected to have--a purse? A backpack? But it was gone as soon as she thought of it. 

“I’ll call down there when I’m done with work,” said Worick. “Oh, before you go!” He stopped her just as she was at the door. “This is for Dr. Theo. It’ll cover some of our tab, at least.” He pulled out a wallet and counted out some bills, then moved as if he was going to put them directly in the back pocket of her shorts.

“Hey, no,” she said, stepping away and holding her hand out for the money.

“Ah, sorry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and handing her the bills.

“Really no,” she repeated, trying to put a stern expression on her face. “Too far.”

“Okay, okay,” he nodded, half-smiling at her as she walked out the door.

She took the main streets to Dr. Theo’s. The Handymen still traveled only through alleys and back streets, but Worick had pointed out the way once before. It was a relief. Without Worick, the narrow, deserted alleys didn’t feel very safe. On the main streets, Ergastulum looked more like an ordinary city. People, a few cars, shops and restaurants. Worick  _ had _ warned her that pickpocketing was a problem, so she put the money for Dr. Theo in her front pocket and kept her hand there, thumb hooked in the pocket.

The clinic was quiet when she entered. In fact, for a moment it seemed empty, but then Dr. Theo emerged from a door to what she thought was his office.

“Hello, June. How are you feeling? Any hallucinations?” He asked.

“Just once,” she said. “But Worick and Nicolas were there. That’s not why I came, though. This is from Worick,” she pulled the bills out of her pocket and handed them to him.

“June!” Nina walked in while Dr. Theo counted out the bills. “How are you? Are you still staying with the Handymen? Nicolas isn’t being too difficult, is he?”

“No,” she smiled. “Nicolas has been very kind. They both have.”

“Eh, June?” Dr. Theo interjected. “When you head back, tell them...well, this isn’t even half. So tell them that if they’re having trouble coming up with the rest, I’d be happy to put some of the wounds I’ve treated for them over the years right back the way I found them.”

The threat in the statement surprised her, and she stood and looked at Dr. Theo, waiting for a laugh or some comment that he was joking. He gave none, regarding her impassively.

“While you’re here, you might as well tell me about that hallucination,” he said once it was clear she had no response. He opened the curtain beside the nearest bed and gestured for her to sit, pulling up a rolling chair for himself. June had the sudden feeling that she wanted Nina to come with her, but she pushed it away as childish. Besides, Nina seemed busy preparing the clinic for the day.

“Well, I felt fine, and then Worick said something that...reminded me,” she explained. “And then, it was like I didn’t see him anymore. I saw the man who…” She trailed off and Theo nodded, and she was relieved he didn’t ask for any more detail on what she saw.

“How long did it last?” He asked.

“Only a few minutes,” she replied.

“Did it resolve on its own?” Dr. Theo was clinical, not anything that could be called warm, but he was perfectly professional. She decided his previous comment  _ had _ been a joke. It had just seemed more ominous because he never let up on his deadpan expression.

She nodded. “Nicolas came upstairs, and at first I didn’t recognize him, but he kept me from, well, trying to hurt Worick and running away. And then I realized who he was, and everything sort of...faded back in.”

“And that was the only time? You haven’t experienced anything like it without a trigger to remind you?”

“That was the only time.”

“Well,” he said. “That’s good news. It’s less severe than other cases I’ve seen. What about your memories?”

She just shook her head.

He nodded. “That’s normal. It’s likely they’ll take a little bit longer.” He stood up, and she guessed that the conversation was over.

“Oh, about the, um, the tab?” She asked before he could walk away. He turned back to her.

“I guess I’m supposed to be working for you, today. If I won’t just be getting in the way.” She really didn’t mind. It was a little run-down, but Theo’s clinic felt the most normal to her, the most recognizable of any of the places she’d been.

“Ah, so they’ve got you doing work for them already.” Where Nicolas’ deadpan was unreadable, Dr. Theo was relentlessly sardonic.

“And I was hoping...if you’re not too busy, I was hoping Nina could teach me some sign language.”

“Oh, I’d love to!” Nina appeared from around the curtain. “Can I, Dr. Theo? If we’re not too busy?”

Theo nodded. “If it doesn’t get in the way of your work.”

###  ***

The first time she saw Nina assisting while Theo treated a patient, June almost dropped the bottle of antiseptic she’d been sent to fetch. It was just a cut that needed stitches, but as the day went by, she learned that Nina hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she was training to be a nurse.

It was easier to wrap her head around the more she watched her. She was calm, professional, and seemed to know exactly what she was doing. None of the patients seemed concerned at all; she knew most of them by name. June wondered if she went to school, but decided to just accept it, like everything else strange she’d seen that week. She seemed to be getting an excellent practical education, at least.

June spent most of the day fetching things and doing laundry. The clinic went through a lot of bedsheets. Nina took her aside to teach her a few signs every time there was a break in her work. She was actually a very thorough, patient teacher.

“Where did you learn to sign?” June asked her while practicing the signs for “hello” and “goodbye.” Nina was the only person she’d met besides Worick and Nicolas who signed.

“Nico taught me,” said Nina.

“Really?” It made sense, but June was still a little surprised. “Is he a good teacher?”

“Nope,” said Nina, smiling. “But I’m a good learner.”

The only excitement in the day came late in the afternoon, when Theo sent June to get some medication for one of the patients. The drugs he didn’t have on hand were kept in a locked room. She had turned the key halfway when she heard a small thump from inside, followed by rattling noises that sounded like several bottles of pills falling to the ground.

“Dr. Theo!” She called out. She opened the door slowly. Who could be in there, anyway? It was a locked room with no other entrance besides the window, which she was sure was latched.

Theo came up behind her, holding a syringe like he was going to use it as a weapon. She peered inside the room. A scrawny teenage girl stared back at her, holding a bottle of pills in one hand. She had tangled black hair and wide, frightened eyes, and a pair of dog tags hung from her neck. June couldn’t read the one with smaller print, but the other read “D/3.”

“Sandra,” said Theo.“What happened? You never came in for your refill.” June took a step back out of the doorway, trying to put some distance between herself and the uncapped needle in Theo’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Theo,” the girl said in a quiet, trembling voice, setting down the bottle she’d been holding. “I...I didn’t have the money.”

Dr. Theo sighed and put the cap back on the syringe. “You should have just told me. I’d rather spot you a tab than have to treat you for withdrawal. Come on.” He turned to June and nodded before leading the girl away. “If you try to steal from me again,” she heard him say as he walked toward the other end of the clinic. “I’m always in need of fresh tissue samples.”

She really hoped he was joking.

June stood in the doorway for a moment before going to look at the bottle the girl had been holding. It was Celebrer. Another Twilight? The girl hadn’t seemed very formidable. Nothing like Nicolas.

At the end of the day, June was on the roof, taking sheets down from a row of clotheslines where they’d been hung to dry. Theo had closed the office for dinner, and so he’d asked June to keep an eye on the door in case someone came in with an emergency.

When she was almost done, she did see a pair of men walking toward the clinic. The first was a tall man in a suit and tie, with dark hair and what looked like a birthmark across part of his face. The other was shorter, wearing a suit and a gray shirt, a sword hanging at his hip.

“Nicolas!” She called out from the roof. He wasn’t looking her way, but the other man tapped him on the shoulder and pointed her out. “Is everything okay? The door’s locked downstairs. Hang on, I’ll go down and let you in.”

Nicolas nodded, and before she could move, he’d closed the rest of the distance to the clinic in a few bounding steps. He leapt upward, grabbed the frame of a second story window, flipped, and landed on his feet in front of her.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Wow,” was all she could manage. Nicolas continued past her, heading for the door back inside. He seemed fine, but when he got to the door, she saw that there was a tear in the right sleeve of his jacket, and a flash of red showed through.

“Nic, you’re hurt!” She called out, realizing he couldn’t see her just after speaking the words, and hurrying after him down the stairs into the clinic. He was already on the first floor by the time she caught up to him. She touched his left arm, and he turned.

“You’re hurt,” she said. 

He gave no response, as usual. Instead he pointed to the front door before he walked over to sit on the nearest bed.

“Oh!” she remembered that he’d been with another man. “I’ll go unlock it. Dr. Theo! Nina!” she called out as she walked to the door. “Nicolas is here! He’s hurt.”

She opened the door, and the man thanked her, smiling. Up close, the man didn’t have a birthmark on his face. It was a scar, running across his face from the bridge of his nose to a nearly circular hole in the side of his ear. It was viscerally clear how he’d gotten it, and she had to tell herself not to stare as she made space for him to come through the door, instead turning back to where Nicolas sat. Nina was already cleaning the wound, and she saw him wince at the antiseptic.

She went to sit somewhere out of the way, only approaching Nicolas when Theo was finishing up the stitches.

**“Nicolas,”** she signed, **“I’m learning to sign.”**

He signed back, and of course she didn’t understand it. 

“Um, sorry, I only know a few words so far,” she said. “But Nina’s teaching me. So maybe I’ll pick up a few more sentences soon”

Dr. Theo was finished a moment later. “Just keep it clean, and come back Monday to have the stitches out,” he said. Nicolas nodded.

“Nico, I’ll go get your meds, while you’re here,” chimed in Nina, signing along as she spoke. “You should be running out soon, right?”

Nicolas signed back, and Nina huffed in consternation. “Nico, you shouldn’t have extra downers left! You have to take the dose that Dr. Theo prescribed.” 

Nina walked off to get the pills, Mary Jane’s clicking just a little bit louder than usual. June wanted to ask what “downers” were; were they another word for Celebrer? Something for the side effects? But...it wasn’t her business.

“She’s right, Nic,” said Dr. Theo. Nicolas stood without a reply, and started to move toward the door. 

“Here you go!” Nina came back with a paper bag in her hand. She held it out, but when Nicolas went to take it, she pulled it back. “You’ve got to promise to take the right dose this time.” For a moment, Nicolas gave no response. “Promise.” She said again. Nicolas finally signed back, and she handed him the bag. He ruffled her hair before turning to go.

The man who’d come in with Nicolas was talking to Dr. Theo, behind them. “Since Nic was injured protecting Miss Cristiano, we’ll cover your fee, of course…”

Good news, considering their tab, thought June. Nicolas waved for her to come with him.

“Oh, um, I guess I’m heading home then,” she said to Theo and Nina.

“Thank you for your help!” said Nina. “Come back again soon! I’ll teach you more signs.”

**“Nicolas,** what happened?” June asked as they started to walk. She signed his name, the only one of the words she knew the sign for.

It took him a moment to answer. He held up one hand and made a gun from his fingers, then mimed it firing.  _ Bang. _

“You got  _ shot? _ ” She said.

He made a sweeping gesture across the line of stitches in his upper arm. It took her a moment to guess what he meant.

“Like, a graze? But...shit, Nicolas, you got  _ shot…” _

He reached out, and she watched to see if he was going to sign something. But instead he brought his hand up to ruffle her hair like he’d done to Nina.

“Hey…” she shook his hand off. “I’m not some wide-eyed innocent just because I’m not used to people I know getting shot. At least tell me the other guy looks worse.”

The only response he gave to that was a small raise of the corner of his lip, a little shadow of that smile from when they first met. So the answer was yes. She thought she should be pleased, or relieved...she was the one who’d asked the question, and of course, if someone was shooting at him, but…

Was hurting people the only thing that made Nicolas smile?

When they got back to the Handymen’s apartment, she tried to warn him that Worick had said he needed the place to himself, but he waved her off and opened the door. The apartment was empty.

**“Worick,”** he signed, and then held up ten fingers.

“He’ll be back at ten? **Okay** ,” she spoke the beginning, and signed the last word, because even if she couldn’t put together a sentence yet, she needed to practice.

Nicolas disappeared downstairs, and for a little while she thought that might be the last she saw of him for the night. But after a little while she heard the noise of running water and plastic rustling in the kitchen, and then he came walking back upstairs. He'd replaced the torn jacket and shirt with a black sleeveless undershirt. In addition to the stitches he’d gotten that day, he had a scattering of scars along both arms. They were mostly thin, white lines, but some were newer and still pink. She could see the edges of a tattoo that seemed to span his upper back around the edges of the shirt.

She told herself not to stare. Instead, she stood up and went to look at the bookshelf again. She’d long since finished  _ The Viscount’s Mistress _ , and had just started a book on French history, when Worick had shown up with a copy of  _ The Highlander’s Dark Desire _ , apparently Granny Joel’s second-best seller. But she wasn’t feeling very interested in kilts at the moment. She pulled out the book on France again. She wasn’t actually all that interested in French history, but it had seemed safe when she picked it. She didn’t want to find another book she’d already read, and even if she had read this one, it wouldn’t  _ mean _ anything.

Nicolas went to his regular perch, leaning against the wall and looking out the window. The sun set late in summer in Ergastulum, so there was plenty of light left.

She was only a page into the descendents of Charlemagne when she smelled a faint whiff of smoke. She remembered hearing Nicolas in the kitchen earlier, and quickly set her book down and hurried down the stairs. She found a pot on the stove with a thin line of smoke rising from it. Nicolas must have put it on earlier. She looked into the pot, coughed, and used a pot holder to take it off the burner, extinguishing the stove.

The contents of the pot looked like they were supposed to be some kind of instant noodles. He’d either forgotten and left them on too long, or put in too little water. Or maybe forgotten the water entirely--all that was left was a charred mess at the bottom.

She took the pot and walked back up into the office. Nicolas was still looking out the window. She had no doubt he’d noticed her go downstairs; she’d learned quickly to never underestimate his peripheral vision. She tapped the window next to him to get his attention, and held up the pot.

“So this is what Worick meant when he said you couldn’t cook?”

Nicolas looked at the contents of the pot impassively, then stood up and headed back down to the kitchen. She followed, and found him with another package of instant noodles and a new pot in hand.

**“No,”** she signed. That one she was pretty sure she had down. “I don’t want to die in an apartment fire before I even remember who I am.”

He set down the pot and noodles and signed back. She shook her head, and pointed back to the office. “Out.” He shrugged and walked back up the stairs.

She sighed, realizing that technically, she’d just kicked the man out of his own kitchen. Well, she’d figure out something to make for both of them.

Ten minutes later, she brought two bowls of instant noodles out into the office, setting them on the desk and then walking over to the window to get Nicolas attention.

For a moment, he just looked at the two bowls, and she was about to tell him that at least her version had come out better than his, but then he raised his hands to sign **.**

**“Thank you,”** he signed. And then he picked up a bowl and took it downstairs before she could say your welcome.

She shrugged, picked up her own bowl, and followed him down. He was sitting on the arm of the single chair in the room--the one Worick had said was his--with the bowl in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other. When he noticed her, he gave her a questioning look, and that was when she realized he’d probably meant to eat alone. She’d noticed he nearly always did.

**“You’re welcome,”** she signed after putting her bowl down on the counter. She went to lean against the kitchen counter, since there was no place to sit, and promptly discovered she didn’t know how to use chopsticks.

“What do you usually eat when Worick isn’t around?” She asked, once she’d grabbed a fork. It was a mostly rhetorical question, but Nicolas pointed a chopstick at one of the kitchen drawers. She opened it out of curiosity, and found it was filled with take out menus. She laughed.

“Alright,” she said, turning back to him and waiting a moment before picking up her bowl again. “This is what Nina taught me today.” She went through the list of words they’d practiced. **“Hello. Goodbye. Yes. No. Okay. Thank you. You’re welcome. Learn. Sign. Nicolas. Worick. Nina. June.”** The last was the sign for the month of June. Nina had told her they’d been using it because it was faster than finger-spelling. “It’s not much, but I have to practice or I’ll forget.” She said.

**“Okay,”** signed Nicolas, and went back to his noodles.

The rest of the meal was eaten without conversation, and when the noodles were finished and the dishes were in the sink, she went upstairs, expecting to spend the rest of the night on the descendents of Charlemagne. But Nicolas followed her upstairs. He went to the desk and pulled a book out of one of the drawers. Walking to where she was sitting on the couch, he handed her the book with a page open, then made a single sign. She looked down at the book. It was a sign language guide. He was making the sign on the page the book was opened to: **“Practice.”**

She grinned at him. He huffed a small, ambiguous sound and went back to look out the window.

###  ***

“We’re going out tonight,” announced Worick, walking through the door with what looked like a shopping bag in one hand.

“We are?” June asked from the desk, raising an eyebrow. It was seven PM on Saturday, and Nic had left a few hours ago for a job.

“My friend Ally is singing at Bastard tonight,” he explained. “She has a wonderful voice. I want you to meet her.”

She couldn’t deny that after a week of staying with Nicolas and Worick, having another woman to talk to was a welcome idea.

“Besides, Nic’s already there,” continued Worick. “And we should pay respects to Miss Cristiano. She’s been giving us a lot of work lately.” He walked to the desk and held out the shopping bag he’d come in with. “You don’t really have anything to wear, so I picked you up a dress.”

“You…picked me up a dress?” She repeated with quiet surprise. She supposed she should thank him, but it also felt a little bit presumptuous.

“Go on,” he said when she took the bag. “Go get changed. Just use my room. We should be there by eight.”

She supposed that if she could let herself be swept along in the current of every other strange thing that had happened in the past week, she could try on a dress. Picking up the bag, she crossed the room to Worick’s small bedroom and closed the door behind her. She pulled the dress out and laid it out on the bed. It was a pretty color, at least, a pale blue. It looked a lot...more revealing than she would have liked, but she told herself to at least try it on.

“Worick, no,” she called through the door a few minutes later when she had the dress on. “Absolutely not.”

“You don’t like it?” Came his voice, half-disappointed and half-teasing, from the other side of the door. “I thought the color would bring out your eyes.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s…”

“It doesn’t fit? I’m usually pretty good at sizes,” he said.

“I don’t even know how to move in this,” she said. The dress was a slinky, ruched affair that clung to her body, with spaghetti straps and a slightly asymmetrical hem that felt too short on the  _ longer _ side.

“You’ll figure it out,” he replied glibly. “Will you at least let me see it?” 

“Couldn’t I wear that other dress?” She asked. There had been a blue dress in the clothes Worick had brought home the first day.

“That’s not an evening dress,” he chided. “Miss Cristiano is a very important woman. We can’t be underdressed.”

“Alright,” she said with a sigh. “Fine.” She opened the door.

Worick was sitting on the arm of one of the sofas, and she tried her hardest to look unhappy with him, but for a moment when he first saw her, he looked honestly...a little stunned. And he managed it without leering. Then a grin spread across his face. “It’s perfect,” he said. “Alright, I just need to run a comb through my hair. Put these on.” He was holding the heeled sandals that had been left in a corner since she’d gotten a pair of the flats.

“I am not a Barbie doll,” she said in frustration, but he just handed her the shoes and brushed past her into his room.

Running a comb through his hair turned out to take five minutes, and she went to sit down on the sofa, but couldn’t quite figure out how to do it without baring more skin than she wanted to, even in an empty room.

When Worick emerged, he’d done more than run a comb through his hair. It was pulled back in a loose braid, and tied with a white bow. The bow was more than a little surprising in contrast to what she otherwise saw as a tough-guy appearance.

“Worick, I can’t figure out how to sit down in this,” she said, unhappily.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, opening the door for her. “I’m guessing you’re more of a jeans and tee-shirt girl, huh? At least that’s something else you know about yourself.”

“Of course, you get to wear what you usually wear,” she complained as they walked down the stairs. “The hair is a nice touch, though. Where’d you learn to braid hair? Have a lot of sisters?” As soon as she said it, she realized the comment was more than a little sexist, but she decided she could forgive herself.

“No,” answered Worick. “Just an older brother. I taught myself when I grew my hair out. I could do yours if you want.” He half-turned to her and smiled as they walked. “I think it’s nice down, though.”

An older brother. It was the first thing Worick had said about his life outside of the Handymen. She wondered if she had any siblings. Wouldn’t she know? Something that close?

“So, Bastard is a nightclub?” She asked, pushing away thoughts of the blank that was her memory.

“Yep,” answered Worick. “And a brothel.”

“Wait, what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand: What Nicolas said to June.
> 
> At Dr. Theo's after she tells him she's learning to sign: "You're not very good at it. You signed my name wrong."
> 
> When she kicks him out of the kitchen: "I know how to make noodles. I just forgot I started them."


	5. Five: Lean on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastard is a classy place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the sub of the anime, Worick calls it "environmentally-friendly." What does that even mean, Worick?

June had to admit it: Bastard did seem like a classy place. She wasn’t sure what it was like on an ordinary day, but for the concert it looked very much like a high end nightclub. Tables were scattered around a large open area, a stage with a microphone and piano along one wall, a bar against another, and an indoor balcony allowing a view of the whole room. A number of women in lingerie were mingling with the crowd, revealing the club’s other business, but at the moment it seemed limited mostly to the periphery.

Worick’s friend wasn’t singing yet, but there was a man at the piano playing quietly while people found their way to the tables, and she found herself focusing on the soft music. She thought she knew the song, but couldn’t name it.

“You checking out Gal, June?” Worick asked.

She sighed. “Is this really you ‘toning it down?’ Do you ever stop?” The piano player was a tall, black man with long brown hair that was dreaded and pulled back, wearing a sharp outfit of a black vest over a button down shirt and slacks, and she supposed he did cut something of a fine figure. But it was the music she was paying the most attention to.

“I think I know this song,” she said. “Do you know the name of it?”

Worick shook his head. “Nope. I’m going to get us drinks. Don’t run away, okay?” He smiled.

“Alright,” she said. “Just water for me. Or a soda or something.”

“You and Nic,” said Worick. “No fun at all.” He headed for the bar. She was happy to stand and listen to the piano, but after a while she started to wonder what was keeping him. She looked to the bar, and found Worick surrounded by a number of women in lingerie, chatting happily. She rolled her eyes. Of course, she thought to herself.

“Excuse me,” came a smooth voice beside her. “You must be June.”

She turned to find herself face to face with the scarred man who’d accompanied Nicolas to the clinic the previous day. He smiled softly and held out his hand.

“Please forgive me for not introducing myself yesterday,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Marco Adriano. We’ve spoken over the phone several times.”

“Oh, hello,” she said. “Um, nice to meet you.” She went to shake his hand, but instead he took hers and brought it to his lips like he was actually going to kiss it. She almost let him, a little flustered, but then turned her hand to grasp his, pulling it back down and shaking firmly.

He gave a small, surprised laugh, letting go of her hand. “Nic did say you were an interesting woman.

“Really?” She said. She was surprised Nic had said anything about her at all.

“He did. Now, if you’ll come with me, Miss Cristiano would like to meet you,” he said.

“Oh,” she hesitated, looking toward where Worick was still chatting at the bar.

“I’m sure Worick will join us in a moment,” said Marco. “And Nicolas is here as Miss Cristiano’s bodyguard tonight.” He’d clearly sensed her hesitation and determined the reason for it. She didn’t have very many familiar people in this city. She smiled and followed him, heading up the stairs to the balcony.

“Mr. Adriano?” She asked as they walked.

“Marco, please,” he corrected.

“Marco, um...could you tell me: who is Miss Cristiano, exactly? I’m...pretty new to the city, and it sounds like she’s someone important, so I don’t want to make a fool of myself, not knowing.”

“Oh, of course,” he replied. “Forgive me; I thought the Handymen might have explained. Miss Cristiano is the head of the Cristiano family. Bastard is one of our main bases of operation.”

Even with the explanation, it took her a moment to understand what he meant.

“Oh,” she said. “And the Cristiano family is one of the…”

“One of the original Four Families,” finished Marco. 

Suddenly, she was nervous. She’d gotten used to the Handymen’s work better than she thought she would, at least in the detached sense of answering their phone and never actually seeing it. But the Four Families of Ergastulum were mafia families, and organized crime felt like another level entirely. Another thing she’d only seen in movies. Gang wars, cement shoes, severed horse heads…

They reached a table in the center of the balcony. A woman was sitting down, facing away from them. She had long, blonde hair, and was wearing an outfit of a white blouse and plaid skirt that felt incongruous with the rest of the club. For a moment it seemed like she was alone, but then June noticed Nicolas leaning against the wall, still, like a shadow. She went to sign hello to him, then stopped. Weren’t you not supposed to talk to bodyguards? They were supposed to be quiet and intimidating, weren’t they?”

Marco walked around the table to speak to the woman, who must have been Miss Cristiano, and she followed.

“Miss,” said Marco, “this is June, the Handymen’s new secretary. June, may I present Miss Loretta Cristiano Amodio.” 

The woman stood and turned to them, and June was surprised to see a teenage girl, a few years older than Nina at the most.

“Oh,” said June, trying to hide her surprise. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Cristiano.”

The girl caught on to her hesitation immediately. “You think I’m too young to be the family boss, don’t you?” She challenged.

“Miss…” Marco sounded like he was about to intervene. She wondered if this happened often.

“I was surprised,” answered June. “But now I’m just thinking that I’m glad Ergastulum has women in such high places.” It was true, but she worried it would sound too much like flattery. “We have to stick together, right?” She added, holding out her hand and smiling.

“Well,” responded Miss Cristiano, “I suppose we do.” She returned June’s smile and shook her hand, seeming satisfied. “Please, sit. You too, Marco.”

Miss Cristiano returned to her seat, and Marco took the one beside her. June moved to sit beside Marco so that she could see the stage. There was a man with a double-bass on the stage now, tuning, so she thought the show must be starting soon.

“I understand you’re a foreigner,” said Miss Cristiano. “We rarely get any visitors from farther than one of the gate cities. I was curious to meet you, so I asked Marco to bring you over.”

“Yes, I am,” said June. “Or at least...I think I am. I feel like I am…”

“So you  _ have _ lost your memories. I’ve been hearing that someone in the contested zone is using a new combination of drugs for trafficking.”

June nodded, not exactly sure how to respond.

“I was just telling June about the Four Families in Ergastulum, and the Cristiano family’s role,” said Marco, rescuing her.

Miss Cristiano nodded. “Of course. The Four Families--The Cristiano, Monroe, and Corsica families and the Paulklee Guild, maintained the balance in Ergastulum, beginning from when my grandfather was the family head, until the Twilight hunts last year. Do you know anything about the Twilight hunts?”

“I remember reading that there was some kind of violence,” said June. “But not...hunts…” The phrase shocked her. She remembered something about unrest, but “Twilight hunts?” She hadn’t remembered that Twilights had been targeted.

“Both Monroe and Corsica were connected to an attempt to exterminate the city’s Twilight population,” continued Miss Cristiano. “Suffice it to say, they’ve fallen out of power. Since then, the balance of the city has been disrupted. A large portion of the territory they held is still contested. The Cristianos have always been allies of the Twilights, so we’ve done what we can to make sure they’re safe. But with all the jostling for power in the contested regions, things have been challenging. That’s part of why we’ve been calling on the Handymen to help us out more often.”

An attempt to exterminate the city’s Twilight population. She’d remembered reading that many people held prejudices against Twilights, but…

“June,” said Miss Cristiano. “I want you to know that all of our girls are working here of their own free will, and things will continue to be that way in any Cristiano territory, as long as I’m the family boss,” said Miss Cristiano. “I wanted to tell you that in person.” 

June thought that if she was going to spend time with a mob boss, she was glad it was Miss Cristiano.

There was a wave of applause from the seats below, and June looked up to see a woman walking on stage. June’s first thought was that she was beautiful, with medium brown skin, long, thick, black hair, wearing an off-white dress that hugged her curves.

“Oh good, Ally’s going to start,” said Miss Cristiano.

“Sometimes, in our lives, we all have pain, we all have sorrow,” the woman, Ally, began to sing. Her voice was just as beautiful as she was, gentle and full at the same time. “But, if we are wise, we know that there’s always tomorrow…”

June’s eyes were fixed on the stage, so she didn’t notice Worick approaching until he arrived at the table. “June!” He said. “I was worried. I thought I told you not to run away.”

She was surprised to see genuine concern in his expression. “Well, it looked like you were going to ditch me to get laid, and then I met Marco,” she replied. “Who is, by the way, at least three times as suave as you think you are.” She saw Marco’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“You really have treated your guest terribly, Handyman,” scolded Miss Cristiano.

“Aww, it wasn’t like that at all!” Protested Worick. “June, some of the girls here are just professional acquaintances of mine.” June honestly had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

“I was only catching up for a minute,” he said, “and then you disappeared. I’ve been looking all over for you, but it turns out you were up here with Miss Cristiano the whole time. Well, that’s a relief.” He slipped into the seat beside Miss Cristiano. “Alright, let’s listen to Ally. Doesn’t she have a beautiful voice?”

“Lean on me,” sang Ally, “when you’re not strong. And I’ll be your friend. I’ll help you carry on. For it won’t be long ‘til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on…”

###  ***

“I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom, for me and you…”

Ally had been called back for an encore. June recognized “What a Wonderful World.” It was familiar enough that she didn’t feel the need to call up a memory of where or when she’d heard it. The feeling was comforting, as were the gentle lyrics of the song.

Nic was so still throughout the concert, surveying the club in his role as bodyguard, that she forgot he was there a few times. And so, she didn’t notice that he’d slipped into the seat beside her until she saw Worick start signing and followed his gaze. She barely stifled a yelp. Nic turned to her, signed,  **“Hello,”** and turned back to Worick.

“And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…”

Worick stood. “We’re going to go back and surprise Ally in her dressing room,” he said quietly to Marco and Miss Cristiano. “Is it alright for Nic to come along?”

Miss Cristiano nodded. “I’ll be fine with Marco here. Always a pleasure, Handymen. And June, of course.”

“I see skies of blue and clouds of white. The bright blessed days, the dark sacred nights…”

“It was nice to meet you, Miss Cristiano,” said June, standing to follow Worick. “And you too, Marco.” Her smile was genuine. Loretta Cristiano Amodio was not what she’d expected when she’d learned she would be meeting a mob boss. She thought she was safe from cement shoes for the near future.

“And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…”

Worick seemed perfectly comfortable walking backstage and making himself comfortable in the small dressing room while they waited for Ally. Nicolas was leaning against the wall, just behind where the door would open, clearly intending to sneak up on her. June smiled at him, and he pretended to be bored.

Ally was there not long after.

“Worick!” She exclaimed happily, hurrying over to hug him. “And you must be June,” she turned to her. “Hi, I’m Alex,” she said, smiling widely. “Worick told me about you. Is Nic…?”

Nicolas chose that moment to step out from behind the door and put one hand on the top of Ally’s head. She started and then laughed, turned and, much to June’s surprise, hugged him as well.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Ally said to all of them.

“You’ve got a wonderful voice,” said June.

“I’ve been telling Ally that for a long time,” said Worick. “After a year singing at Bastard, I think she might finally be starting to believe me.”

Ally just smiled. “So, you’re staying on the couch?” She asked June. “I heard Nicolas rescued you from a couple of pimps.”

“Yeah,” June nodded. “Nicolas and Worick have been really nice, letting me stay. I haven’t been able to go home, since, well...I haven’t remembered where it is yet.”

“I know what that feels like,” said Ally. “You know, I used to stay with the Handymen. We met in kind of similar circumstances to yours.”

“Ally’s the friend I mentioned who’s been through TB withdrawal,” said Worick. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to introduce you two. I thought it might be good for you to have someone to talk to who’s experienced it.”

Ally nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, if you ever want to talk, just give me a call. You can usually reach me here, or…” she picked up a notepad and pen from the room’s small vanity and wrote down a phone number before handing it to June. “Here’s the number for my apartment.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” said June. Ally’s open kindness was reassuring.

“Have you started to remember anything?” asked Ally.

June shook her head. “Nothing before I woke up here. Did you remember, eventually?”

“Yes,” said Ally. “Eventually, I remembered everything.” A quick shadow passed over her face when she said “everything,” and for the first time, June wondered what her memories would be like, once she got them back. She’d started taking Worick’s picket fences comment to heart, but…

What if the memories she got back weren’t good memories?

“Are you coping alright?” Ally asked. “Is Worick trying to hit on you all the time?”

“Hey!” Interjected Worick, but Ally continued on.

“I bet Nic’s pretending to ignore you.”

June smiled. “They’ve been alright. Although Nicolas almost set the kitchen on fire making noodles yesterday.”

“Nicolas, again?” Asked Ally. “All you have to do is read the instructions on the package.”

Nicolas signed in response, while Worick spoke up again. “Hey, Ally, I brought June to meet you so that she’d have some emotional support, not so you could girl-talk about us right in front of us.” His arms were crossed over his chest and he was trying to look displeased, but he was obviously amused.

“Hey,” said June, “I thought you knew women.”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” He responded.

“If you know women, you should know that all we do is girl-talk about men.” June grinned.

###  *** 

On Monday, the police station finally called, asking her to come in and give a statement. They offered to send a car, but Worick insisted on walking her instead. She’d asked him if he really wanted to go walking into a police station, given the way he made his living. “Oh, I know the detective working the case,” he’d replied. “Chad’s a good guy. Kicks us a job every once in awhile.”

They were greeted at the station by a nervous-looking young detective who Worick called Cody. He asked if, “the other guy,” was with them as he led them to a room for the interview, and seemed very relieved when Worick told him that Nicolas had other work that day.

The interview room was really just the less-intimidating of two interrogation rooms. There wasn’t much to look at while they waited; she supposed it wasn’t a good idea to keep the details of open cases around for anyone to see. A few wanted posters were taped up, though, some with mug shots and some with sketches. One caught her eye, a young man--a kid, really--blonde hair and an eye patch.

“Is this…?” She murmured, because of course it was. Next to the poster was one of another kid looking beat up, with black hair…

“Worick, is this you? And Nicolas?” She scanned the posters: 

_ Nicolas Brown _

_ Criminal Class A _

_ Male TW C0 _

_ Age: 17 _

_ Record: Blackmail, mugging, murder _

Murder. Seventeen years old. It shouldn’t have surprised her, just like everything else shouldn’t have surprised her. She turned to the other one.

_ Worick Arcangelo _

_ Criminal Class D _

_ Male _

_ Age: 18 _

Arcangelo was quite a name, she thought. It rang a little bell in her head, but she was distracted by the final line of text on the poster.

_ Record: Blackmail, mugging, prostitution _

“Oh,” she said softly. Things fell together before sorting themselves out in her mind, things that hadn’t made sense, but she’d just accepted anyway. He’d said flirting was part of his main job. He needed June and Nic out of the house. The women at Bastard were professional acquaintances. 

Eighteen years old.

“Oh, no, did Chad put those up again? We were so young--it’s embarrassing!” Worick hurried over and put himself between her and the posters, smiling but maybe a bit flushed. “He puts them up every time he brings us in. To remind us that he’s gone easy on us, I guess. I thought maybe he’d give me a break, since I’m just bringing you in to give a statement. Hmm,” he paused. “That was a long time ago. But I’ve only gotten more handsome with age, huh?” He grinned.

June gave him a little smile. “Of course,” she said.

Worick opened his mouth to say something in response, but he was cut off when an older man entered the room, carrying a folder and a notepad.

“Hey, Chad, long time no see!” Chirped Worick.

The man only rolled his eyes at him. He looked, well, like an old detective, close to retirement. Short hair, tired eyes, brown suit that was slightly rumpled. He held out his hand for her to shake.

“Hello, June. I’m Detective Adkins. I’m the lead on the trafficking case, but I can bring in a female officer to take your statement if you’d prefer that. Worick, you should wait outside.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “But...would it be alright if Worick stays?”

Detective Adkins looked at Worick for a moment and considered. “Still convincing the ladies you’re a knight in shining armor, huh?”

Worick only shrugged in response, the kind of shrug that said “Hey, I’m harmless.”

Adkins nodded. “If it’ll make you feel more comfortable, he can stay. I suppose you’ve told him everything already, or Nicolas has.”

She nodded.

“It’s funny,” he said, scrutinizing her. “You don’t fit the pattern of the other victims. At least the ones we know of. The first two were blondes, early twenties. You’ve got dark hair, and...well, I know it’s not polite to ask a ladies’ age…”

“I just turned thirty,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Oh...I’d forgotten.” She was more offended by Chad’s “ladies’ age” comment than the implication. She hadn’t thought about it, but she was a little old to be targeted for trafficking. Another thought she pushed away, like why she knew so much about Ergastulum. Things that didn’t fit with her as a random victim. She didn’t want to follow that thread. She was afraid of where it could lead.

“Hmm,” said Chad, making a note but not pushing the issue further. “Well, alright. Start from the beginning, and tell me everything you remember.” He set down the folder and notepad on the metal table and sat down across from her, taking out a pen to write.

She started slowly. “The first thing I remember is waking up in the backseat of a car…” It felt strange to tell the story. She’d been spending so much energy trying  _ not _ to fall back into the memories. Calling them up felt backwards.

“You said the first man’s name was Jimmy,” Detective Adkins said when she finished. “Can you remember anything else specific? Any other names or places? We have pictures of the scene, but anything you might have seen on the way there could be helpful.

She shook her head. “I didn’t see anything until they took me out of the car. The other man had a name that started with “P,” I think…

_ You want her, come by Madame Rose’s tomorrow. _ She could still hear it, echoing through her mind in Jimmy’s voice. She felt her breathing speed up a bit. Worick put a hand on her shoulder.

“They...he said to go to ‘Madame Rose’s’ when he was talking to Nicolas. I think maybe that’s where they were taking me.”

“Hmm,” Detective Adkins noted it down. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Worick?”

“Never heard of the place,” Worick answered.

“Must be new. Another upstart outfit. Too many of them these days. Alright, June,” he turned back to her. “We’ll let you know if we turn anything up that could help with your identity. Worick’s already been through the missing person’s reports, so if we had one for you he’d have recognized you. Before you go, would you mind taking a look at the crime scene photos and confirming that the two bodies are the men who kidnapped you? We didn’t get there until the evening, and there’s been a lot of crime in that area. We want to make sure we have the right men.”

“Oh…” Memories flashed through her mind, wet sounds and gurgling cries, confused, bloody images.

“Hey, Chad,” said Worick, squeezing her shoulder. “Hasn’t she given you enough? Just have Nic come in and take a look.”

“You’re really going to make me drag in the Tag?” Grumbled Chad. “He won’t talk to anyone but me, and I’ve got enough work to do.”

“Come on,” said Worick. “I’ll make sure he comes down tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” June said, taking a breath. “I can do it. Get it over with. Then maybe I’ll be able to forget him.”

Chad nodded, took a pair of photos out of the folder he’d brought with him and slid them to her. She took them, but waited a moment before she actually looked.

She choked on a breath and looked away as soon as she looked at the first picture, but made herself turn back. It was Jimmy, but his face was no longer sneering. It was contorted in a scream. He’d been cut nearly in half, from one hip to the opposite shoulder. She could see the tips of ribs protruding from the wound, and bits of white that she thought might be his spine. His right arm was severed mid-way up the forearm, like he’d held it up defensively, and…

“That’s Jimmy,” she said, pushing the picture away. She didn’t spend very long with the second one. “I didn’t see the other man’s face, but that’s the color suit he was wearing.”

Chad nodded. “That’s good enough. Thank you. Worick, you might as well take a look, while you’re here."

Worick slid the pictures closer to where he was standing, looked for what felt like only a second or two, and then passed them back to Chad. “The first one was one of Corsica’s men. Seen him a few times in the contested zone. Must have been trying to strike out on his own. The other one used to be with Monroe. Thought he’d skipped town. Damn, everyone thinks they’re going to be the next boss of the city these days.”

She didn’t realize she was shaking until she and Worick were on the steps of the station.

“Doing okay?” asked Worick. “You did good in there.”

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “Not okay, but...I’m still seeing the real world. So,” she changed the subject. Honestly, she thought she’d feel better if they  _ stopped  _ talking about it. “You help out the police a lot?”

“Usually just when Chad blackmails me into it.” He didn’t sound all that displeased.

“You figured out who those guys were really fast. And, would you really recognize me after going through the reports, without checking again?” Detective Adkins had seemed sure of it.

He nodded. “I’ve just got a really good memory.”

“Like a photographic memory?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

###  ***

Life, her strange new life, moved on. No matter how much she tried to remember who Worick and Nicolas really were, she remained mostly insulated from what they did. She didn’t realize how essential that was to her comfort until Nicolas arrived home one day with a split lip, bruised and spattered with blood.

**“Nicolas…”** she signed, standing from the desk. She was about to ask him if he was hurt, but he glanced at her, and his eyes, in that brief moment, looked  _ alive _ in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before, and she realized: It was probably someone else’s blood.

“Oh man, June.” Worick came in just after. Unlike Nicolas, he didn’t look at all worse for wear, but he looked exhausted, and he spoke, he sounded like he was just coming home from a hard day at the office. “That was harder than they told us it would be. They said the Twilight they had working for them was a Low, but he was a C/2 at least. Man…” He came to stand by the desk. Worick usually wore some kind of cologne, and right then, he smelled of lavender mixed with something acrid. Was it gunpowder, or was that just something they said in books?

“How were the phones? Any calls?”

“Oh...yeah,” she answered softly. “Granny Joel needs help moving some shelves to clean her floor, someone named Lucky says he has some evictions at his building up in District Six, and someone else who didn’t leave a name said the package would be ready after church on Sunday and you would know what that meant…Is Nic…?”

“He’s fine,” said Worick. “A couple scratches. He’ll patch himself up and come back upstairs when he’s cooled down.”

“What about the other guy?” She asked. She kept asking that question when she didn’t really want to know the answer.

“He’ll live. So, Lucky’s back in business. Things have been tough in District Six since Corsica fell.” Worick continued on.

The lack of concern in his tone for what he and Nic had just been through was disquieting enough, but right then she looked up at Worick, and noticed something that stopped her cold.

“June?” It must have come through on her face. “Are you okay? Are you remembering something?”

“No, it’s just that…” Even when Worick put his hair in a ponytail, some of it always came untied in the front, framing his face. Right now, a patch of the loose hair was stuck together with something sticky and red-brown. “I think you have blood in your hair.”

“Aww, really?” he stepped away. “Nic always has to make such a mess. Be right back.” He shrugged off his jacket and holster and hung them up, followed by his shirt, before he turned and headed downstairs. He had a tribal tattoo that ran the width of his upper back, just like the one she’d noticed on Nicolas.

She took a few breaths. Worick returned a few minutes later, drying off one side of his hair with a towel. He shrugged his shirt back on without bothering to button it, then went to sit on the couch, arranging the towel on his shoulders so his hair wouldn’t get the shirt wet.

“June? Come sit?” he motioned her over, but the question was clear in his voice. He wasn’t assuming she’d want to be any closer to him.

She stood anyway, walked over and flopped down next to him, pretending she was just tired, like he was, that she wasn’t feeling a rush of adrenaline leave her system.

“We’ll get you out of here and back to your picket fences soon,” said Worick. “Maybe I’ll see if Chad will let me go over the missing persons again. He could widen the search.”

“He’s not really going to find anything, is he?” She asked.

“Probably not,” said Worick. “Not enough funding, not enough manpower. Too much else going on in the contested zone. But you’ll remember.”

She sighed. “So, when did you and Nicolas decide to get matching tattoos?”

“Hey!” He laughed at the change of subject. “You’ve been paying attention, huh? If you get to look, I should get to look.”

“I...well, I never said you couldn’t look. Just not touch,” she teased back, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. She was starting to understand that Worick used flirting the way some people used sarcasm, and others used cheesy jokes. To lighten the mood. To fill the gaps in conversations. To change the subject. “How long have you two known each other?” She changed it back.

“Mmm,” Worick sighed. “Since I was thirteen and he was twelve.”

“That’s a long time,” she said. She’d started to suspect that. They had a comfort with each other, a way of interacting like everything was an old habit that suggested a long friendship. She was going to ask how they’re met, but Worick had a different question.

“Hey, June,” said Worick. “How come you flirt back with me, now that you know I’m a gigolo?”

The question threw her completely. “Oh...it’s, um...that’s none of my business,” she stammered.  _ Had _ she changed? Was that when she’d started to feel more comfortable with it? “And it’s not that...I don’t assume or anything…”

“It’s okay,” he said, cutting off her awkward speech. “I saw you reading my old rap sheet. It’s not a secret. You changed a little, though, when you found out. I’m curious.”

“I guess…” It took her a moment to think of what had changed. “I just thought you were one of those guys, you know, they’re handsome and they know it, so they just assume if they hit on a girl...it’ll be welcome. Most men don’t know what it’s like to have someone touch you like they’re entitled to it, to look at you, talk to you like you’re just a bunch of parts.”

“So you found out what I do as my main job, and now you think I must know what it’s like?”

“Do you?”

“Mhmm,” he said. “It’s not a bad gig. We couldn’t pay the bills just as handymen. And I’m pretty exclusive now. In demand. Sometimes I book ahead of time.” He nudged his shoulder against hers, and winked. “You’d buy me, wouldn’t you?” The nudge became an arm draped around her shoulder.

“I...I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that,” she said. But she found she didn’t mind the contact, even leaning into him a little bit. “I probably couldn’t afford you. Not with what you guys pay me.”

“Probably not.” They laughed, and she let herself forget about the blood. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex is here! When I started the first draft of this, Alex didn't appear. I just resolved her plot line by saying she moved back to East Gate. And I felt bad about it, honestly. 
> 
> I will now step onto my soapbox. Sometimes I have feelings about stories that write out the main female character and/or love interest from a franchise (despite, obviously, writing them). It's not really the fanfic, though. I see so much hate towards the female love interests of male characters in certain fandoms. (This isn't one of them, happily.) I saw this a lot when I was spending time in the MCU rp community on tumblr. And I feel like it comes from two places. The first is that a lot of these characters were badly written, because they were written by men. And I'm not saying men can't write good female characters; they totally can. But whenever I see a character like Jane Foster in the Thor movies, whenever I see a female character that rubs me the wrong way, especially in her interactions with a male lead, it's always a character written, and in the case of movies and TV, directed by a man. And I think it ends up kind of preying on the internalized misogyny women deal with, so we end up hating these characters. So I've started really getting on the bandwagon of don't hate Jane Foster; hate the guy who wrote her.
> 
> That said, Gangsta is written by a woman! And while I love the anime and it will always be super dear to my heart, it really fails Alex. A lot of the reason I didn't initially include her was that I couldn't figure out how to write her character. She doesn't have that much of one besides being quietly swept along with events in the anime. So I was so excited when I read the manga and discovered that she does, in fact, have a character! She has thoughts and feelings, she acts with initiative, and she's really brave. And now that I feel like I understand her, I was really glad I could include her in the story, because she's awesome, and much more than the silent victim that's portrayed in the anime.


	6. Six: Downers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nic and June return to the place where he rescued her, but things take an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised ACTION, I promised ANGST, and in this chapter I SHALL DELIVER.

**“Nicolas,”** June signed his name. She was practicing, but sometimes it felt like “Hello, Nicolas,” was the only thing she could remember with any regularity. “Can I ask you for help with something?” 

It was Friday, and Worick needed them out of the apartment again. Of course, she could have gone down to Dr. Theo’s. She had more questions about her memory loss, and another lesson with Nina would help with her signing vocabulary.

But she knew Dr. Theo wouldn’t have any answers beyond giving it more time, and she was growing impatient with the  _ nothing _ she found whenever she tried too hard, like falling into cold, black water.

Nicolas was waiting silently for her to make her request. “Do you think that...you could take me back to where you found me? I don’t know if it would help. Maybe it would just give me another flashback. But, the longer it goes on...I know who I am until I think about it, but then there’s just…”

The phone rang, and Worick came jogging out of his room. Nicolas turned and signed to him, then headed downstairs. Worick looked at June and put a finger to his lips before he picked up the receiver.

“Handymen. Oh, Rebecca!” His voice dropped to a purr. “I wondered when I was going to hear from you again. Did you miss me? Oh, I  _ always _ have time for you. When are you going to pick me up?”

June wasn’t quite sure if she should stay or go, so it was a relief when Nicolas came back up the stairs. He’d changed into his usual black shirt, cargo pants, and boots, and had his sword at his hip. He signed something else to Worick, who gave him a quick wave, balancing the phone receiver on his shoulder while he wrote on the notepad, and then tapped June on the shoulder and pointed to the door.

She supposed that was her answer.

**“Thank you,”** she signed as they walked down the stairs. When he’d headed back to his room, she’d thought that meant no.

They didn’t talk much, at first. Nicolas was not someone who strolled. He always walked quickly, mission-oriented, and if she stopped to look around too much, she quickly fell behind. She wanted to talk, honestly. She knew he could read her lips perfectly well, but he rarely spoke, usually only when his hands weren’t free. It felt too much like talking at him.

She had started to learn the layout of the city. District Eight, where the Handymen had their office, was to the the southeast, and most of the places Worick took her regularly were on the east side of the city, north from the Handymen in District Seven. Nic took her west. At first, he went the same way she’d gone with Worick when they’d gone to Bastard, but instead of turning south, he kept going.

“I haven’t been this way before,” she said, because she always resolved to walk in comfortable silence with Nicolas, and then gave in after the first five or ten minutes. “At least, since...and that walk was a blur, honestly. Is it a bad...a worse part of the city? Because there weren’t very many “good” parts.

“Contested,” he answered.

She’d heard people mention the “contested zone” several times now, first Miss Cristiano at Bastard, then Detective Adkins at the station. Miss Cristiano had said two of the major families had fallen. She supposed “contested” meant that no one had taken their place yet.

She knew she’d read about the conflict the previous year. It was still vague in her memory, but Miss Cristiano’s explanation had added some detail. She remembered reading news listing numbers of casualties and a picture of smoke rising over part of the city.

“Something bad happened here last year, didn’t it?” She asked Nicolas.

He only nodded in response.

“I don’t remember the details, but I remember reading about it. I don’t remember where, or how, but I remember reading about it. Nicolas, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell Worick?” 

He shook his head no, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the bluntness.

“Okay, I guess I don’t really know why I haven’t told him, anyway.” She wasn’t sure why she felt she could tell Nicolas, but not Worick. Maybe because Worick would talk about it, what it might mean and she didn’t want to. She wanted it out of her head, but...if she told Nicolas, he’d probably just shrug.

“I’ve been looking at your bookshelf, just for something to do. And I thought I’d read more about the city. So I pulled out this book; it was called  _ Ergastulum, Twilights, and the Three Laws.  _ But when I went to read it, I already remembered what it said. Like I’d read it once before. That’s strange, isn’t it? That I was reading about Ergastulum, and I ended up here? From what everyone’s said, it sounds like most people who don’t live here don’t know much about the city.”

He watched her speak, but gave no answer. She still wasn’t sure if that meant he had nothing to say, or that he knew she wouldn’t understand if he signed it, but she let it go. This was what she’d wanted, after all. To be able to tell someone, without them wanting to say anything back.

When they reached the alley where Nicolas had rescued her, she didn’t even recognize it at first. Not until Nicolas stopped.

After spending time in the city, it was just another alley. Nicolas watched her as she walked around. This was where he had stood when she’d first seen him. This was where the car had been parked. Nothing. Not even a flashback; not even a hallucination. Maybe it was because her state of mind had been so different at the time. She sighed and leaned against a wall. She didn’t even know what she had expected to happen, or what she had expected to find.

And then she heard voices. She couldn’t make them out at first, but when she stopped and listened, they started to come clear.

“Hey, you! Didn’t you hear, asshole? This is no Tag zone now.”

“We don’t want animals like you around here.”

“I’m leaving! I’m going, just leave me alone!” They were all male voices, but the first two were aggressive, while this one sounded scared.

**“Nicolas,”** she signed, and then mouthed the rest of the words. “I hear something. Something’s happening.

“Nah, we can’t just let him go.”

“Gotta teach him a lesson for trespassing. Fucking Tag.”

“Just let me go!”

Nicolas was watching her, waiting for her to elaborate. “I think someone’s in trouble,” she continued to mouth the words silently. “A bunch of voices are talking about a Tag. Saying he isn’t welcome. He sounds frightened.”

Nicolas looked around, and it almost seemed like he was smelling the air. Then he smiled. The same smile as the first time she’d seen him, and for a moment, that brought the memories back. It was like a movie in fast forward. Nicolas, his sword, putting up her hands and closing her eyes. Nicolas pulling her back up from where she’d fallen and taking her by the arm. The Nicolas that was here now seemed like a different person. She wasn’t afraid of this man. She almost felt like he was a friend; at least a stand-offish, distant one. But the smile was the same.

She blinked back into the present, and Nicolas was trying to tell her something. Once he’d caught her eye he pointed at the ground. Stay here. Then he was off and running. He went in the direction of the voices without her having to point it out for him, and she wondered how he knew.

“Nicolas, wait!” she said. But he was already gone. She stood at the opening of the alley, fear rising in her chest. Of what she’d heard happening. Of what could happen to Nicolas. Of what Nicolas intended to do. But she didn’t have to wait long for the voices to return.

“Oh, look, it’s another one!”

“You come to rescue your friend?”

“Oh, look at him, he’s out for blood.”

“Thinks he’s gonna take on all of us? Just try it!”

“Monster.”

Monster. She started moving, and she didn’t exactly know why. She ran in the direction Nicolas had gone. Before long, a man with dog tags around his neck came running in the opposite direction, almost bumping into her. Like the girl at Dr. Theo’s, he looked like he was still a teenager, and scared.

“Anti-Twilights,” he said as he passed her, eyes wide.

She turned a corner and found Nicolas, and managed to skidded to a stop, taking a step back so she wasn’t in plain view. Nicolas was at the center of a semicircle of men armed with makeshift weapons--a hammer, a piece of pipe, a length of chain. Nicolas’ back was to her, but she was lucky she’d stepped back before the men had seen her. She counted eight of them. They held their weapons ready, but seemed hesitant to approach him, throwing insults instead.

“Come on, Tag, I thought you wanted to play.”

“Bet he’s bluffing. Another Low. Let’s take him apart.”

The Twilight who she’d seen running must have been their first target. He was safe now, so why was Nicolas still there? She had no doubt he could outrun them. He could just jump to a roof like he had at Dr. Theo’s if he needed to. Why wasn’t he leaving? Why wasn’t he coming to get her and getting them both out of there?

One of the men finally ran at him, brandishing a wrench. Nicolas knocked him back with a kick to the chest. He moved with such speed and economy of motion that it seemed like he was just swatting a fly. Two more men tried to come in behind him, but he jabbed one in the face viciously with his elbow, and then hit the second in the stomach with the sheath to his sword. The first man screamed, clutching his face as blood poured from his nose.

The rest started to regroup, and Nicolas just...waited. Waited for them to come at him again. When two more men got the courage to try it, he danced backward easily, leaving them spinning and off balance from the force of their strikes, before sweeping their legs out from under them.

He was  _ playing  _ with them, she realized. Just toying with them like a cat.

“Alright, enough,” there was a tall blonde man in a hoodie who seemed like the ringleader. He tossed the hammer he’d been carrying away and pulled out a knife. “You wanna draw that sword, Mr. Samurai? You even know how to use it?”

She saw Nicolas shake his head no, and then his hand went to the tags at his neck, holding them up.

“Oh, shit!”

“Fuck, he’s an A category.”

“Shit, man, we’re sorry. We let the other guy go. No harm done, right?”

“Shut up, you bunch of pussies, we can take him,” the blonde man spoke again. “Rush him! Now!”

They went for him at once, two more pulling knives out of their coats, and Nicolas just...danced. He was faster than them, agile enough to dodge all of them at once, and June hoped he would end this soon. But then she spotted another man, perched on the roof above, with what looked like a rifle.

“Sammy, now!” The blonde man shouted.

“Nicolas!” she screamed, knowing he wouldn’t hear her, or the crack of the rifle as it went off.

Nothing happened. As best as she could tell from her vantage point, Nicolas didn’t jerk or stagger. He did take the moment to throw his attackers off a little more decisively. Two flew into a wall, struggling to get back up. A third staggered back; he’d broken another nose. The rest moved further away, cautious.

That was when Nicolas fell. He dropped to his knees, looking down like it was a surprise when his legs failed to hold him up. She couldn’t see blood on him, but those black shirts hid it well sometimes.

“Nicolas!” She was running. The decision wasn’t conscious. Her feet decided to move. She listened to the part of her mind that spoke reason, that told her this was stupid, that she couldn’t help him, and she was about to get hurt, or worse. She listened and then she turned it  _ off _ .

“Hey look, he’s got a girlfriend!” Called out the first of them to notice her coming.

“Don’t worry, we got plenty more where that came from, bitch!”

Nicolas slumped over on his side. “Hey, she’s got no tags. I think she’s a normal,” said someone else. They didn’t stop her from reaching Nicolas, getting on her knees beside him and starting to search for a wound, a bullet hole. Wherever it was, she had to try and stop the bleeding. Nicolas looked up at her, and his surprise was the most expression she’d ever seen on his face.

“She really is,” the men continued talking. “Hey, girl, what are you doing with that monster?”

She couldn’t find a wound. Instead, there was a little glass capsule on the ground, with a needle at one end. Some kind of dart? What had they shot him with?

Nicolas tried to wave her away, weakly.

“No,” she shook her head. “How can I help you?”

“Run,” he mouthed.

“Hey, girl,” came the blonde man’s voice. “We don’t have a problem with humans. Just go. We just want the Tag.” He turned to the man beside him. “Come on, he’s high category. We gotta finish him before it wears off.

“No!” She shouted, scrambling for something, anything to do.

“Last chance to run,” said the blonde man, advancing with the knife.

June gritted her teeth, grabbed the hilt of Nicolas’ sword, and pulled it from the sheath. “Stay back! Don’t come near him!” She stood and pointed the sword at the blonde man, holding it with two hands even though she knew it was the wrong way to hold it. She didn’t think she could keep it steady with just one.

“Seriously? Alright, your funeral.” The man advanced on her with the knife. She didn’t know how to use the sword. In that moment, she wasn’t even sure that could bring herself to try. She was going to die.

“June, get down!” She followed the order without thinking, dropping to the ground.

And then a gunshot rang out. The blonde man screamed, knife falling from his now-bleeding hand. Another shot and the sniper fell from the roof, hitting the ground hard and lying motionless.

“Hey, Nic, June, having a party without me?” She followed the sound past the blonde man, who was clutching what was left of his hand, to where Worick stood at the other end of the alley. She felt Nicolas sigh and close his eyes. Her hand went to his neck for a pulse, and it was there, steady. He was just unconscious.

“Alright, boys,” Worick leveled the gun at the blonde man. “Time to drop your weapons and run.”

He ran, and with their ringleader running, the rest of them followed suit.

“Except...you,” said Worick. A final shot rang out, and the man closest to her fell, curling into a fetal position and clutching his leg as blood bloomed through his jeans.

June stared wide-eyed as Worick jogged to where she was kneeling beside Nicolas. She dropped the sword.

“What happened?” Asked Worick.

“They shot him with something,” she answered. “They said it would wear off…” she looked down and found the dart, held it up for him to see.

“That’s...downers,” said Worick, puzzled. “Where the hell did they get...well, that’s why we kept a guest.” He turned to the man he’d shot in the leg. June had nearly forgotten he was there. “Is he hurt, otherwise?” Worick asked.

“No,” she shook her head.

“He’ll be okay. Stay with him,” said Worick, and then he walked to the fallen man, gun in hand. When he reached him, he dropped down on his haunches and pressed the gun to the man’s forehead.

“Hello, darling,” he purred.

“Hey, man, it w-wasn’t supposed to go like this! I swear!” 

“Oh, of course it wasn’t,” said Worick, and the sound of his voice, the low, deadly promise of it, made her blood go cold.

“We j-just wanted to see if it w-worked. Just gonna s-scare a couple Lows.”

“Mhmm,” she saw Worick’s wrist shift as he pressed the barrel of the gun harder against the man’s skull.

“You g-gotta believe me! B-But, he was a high category. He w-would’ve killed us.”

“What’s your name?” Worick asked the man.

“It’s M-Mitch,” he answered.

“I believe you, Mitch,” said Worick. He pulled the gun away and set it down, carefully out of Mitch’s reach.

“Th-thank you!” Mitch sighed with relief. “Th-thank you. I-I-”

“I just need to know one more thing,” Worick said.

“S-sure! Anything! I k-know all their names…”

“Where did you get the downers, Mitch?”

Mitch’s eyes opened wide. “I...I don’t know, man, I don’t--”

“Of course you don’t,” said Worick, and then he moved his hand and shoved his fingers into the bullet wound in Mitch’s leg. Mitch screamed, and the sound was like nothing June ever heard before. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Something in her needed to bear witness. Something in her needed to  _ know _ .

“Shh…” cooed Worick. “Listen, Mitch. I don’t really like to hurt people. I like to keep things clean and simple. But I really don’t like Anti-Twilights,” he twisted his fingers, and Mitch screamed again. “And I  _ really _ want to know where you got those downers.”

“H-he’ll kill me…”

Worick’s arm jerked as he dug his fingers in deeper. Mitch shrieked and choked.

“Dmitri! Dmitri Antoniou! That’s what Sammy said. That’s all I know. I swear! I swear.”

Worick stilled his arm, and then drew his hand away from the wound, wiping the worst of the blood on Mitch’s khaki pants. June watched Mitch gasp and then sigh in relief, and she found herself relieved, as well. She knew she should be angry at Mitch. He would’ve hurt that Twilight she’d seen running, would’ve hurt her, might have even killed Nicolas, but...the  _ sound of his _ screaming...

“Alright, Mitch,” Worick said. His voice had lost the ominous purr. Now he only sounded tired. “Now all I have left for you to do is to deliver a message for me.” He picked up the gun and stood.

“Y-yeah,” Mitch was trying to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it. “Anything. Anything.”

Worick pointed the gun at Mitch’s head and fired before the other man could react. The man’s face dissolved into red, and June heard herself scream. “Message sent,” said Worick, turning and walking back toward her and Nicolas. She turned away, finally, tried to stand but fell back down, tried to breathe, but there was blackness creeping in at the corner of her vision.

“Sorry you had to see that.” Her eyes rolled to the voice, and there was Worick. He was wiping the rest of the blood off his hand with a handkerchief, and the thin, white cloth was turning, so, so red. “But it’s over now..June?”

She couldn’t breathe. She felt herself take great, hiccuping breaths, and yet she couldn’t breathe. It was all red. Red on the stone pavers, on the dead man’s clothes, the ruin of his face. Red on the white, white handkerchief. Red on Worick’s hand.

“Oh, no, come back June. I can’t drag both of you to Theo’s. Here,” he held out his hand, the mostly unbloodied one, and smiled softly. “It’s alright. It’s just me, June. It’s Worick. You’re right here with me.”

“I know where I am,” she whispered.

“Oh, good,” he said. “Because Nic’s going to be okay, but he might be out for a while, and I could really use your help to get him to Dr. Theo’s. Come on,” he reached out to take her hand, and she scrambled awkwardly back.

“Don’t!”

“June, what is it? Is it…” he glanced back toward Mitch’s body. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for him.” Just a hint of frustration crept into his voice. “He was an Anti-Twilight. They target low category Twilights and attack them in groups. Kill them, sometimes. The city’ll be better off…”

“I don’t know you,” she said, finally managing to get to her feet and backing away. It didn’t matter who Mitch was, or how awful. What she had just seen Worick do, what he was capable of...and now he was reaching out to her, smiling, with bloody hands. “I don’t know you. Either of you. I don’t know you at all.” She wanted, needed to run. She needed to get away from here, from this alley, from this city, from these two men who drew her in and made her believe they weren’t just another pair of wolves waiting for the scent of blood.

The smile faded from Worick’s face. “No, you’re right. I guess you don’t.” 

She took another step back. 

“But wait,” he went on. “Please. I can’t chase you around the contested zone with Nic like this. Just come with me to Dr. Theo’s, so I’ll know that you’re both safe. After that, you never need to see me again, if you don’t want to.”

She just looked at him for a moment. The look on his face...disappointment. Resignation. She remembered Nicolas, that day...it had only been two weeks ago. The smile and the blood and sword. The pictures in the police station, severed limbs and protruding ribs. She had forgiven Nicolas that, because he’d done it to save her.

“How did you find us?” She asked quietly.

“Nic told me where you were going. My afternoon appointment cancelled, so I thought I’d come and see if you were okay. I was worried it would trigger a hallucination. I followed the shouting from there. Good thing I did, huh?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You saved me. And Nic, I think. But..did you have to…?” She looked past him to the body on the ground.

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “Downer weapons like that are highly restricted. A few Anti-Twilight punks shouldn’t be able to get their hands on one. I needed to know where it came from. June, imagine if it had been anyone but Nic. A D category. Someone who didn’t have me to come looking for them. They would have killed them.”

She nodded. “We should get Nic to Dr. Theo.”

Worick nodded, just the hint of a smile on his face. He turned back to Nic. “Look at him,” he gave a soft laugh. “Sound asleep. Come on, Nic, wake up.” Worick bent down and put his hands under Nicolas’ arms, hauling him to his feet. June saw Nic blink twice before closing his eyes. “Damn, he’s heavy for a guy his size. June, come here and get his other side.”

###  ***

Nina came running when Worick shouldered the clinic door open. “Nico! What happened?”

“Some idiot punks in the contested zone got ahold of downer bullets,” said Worick through gritted teeth as they dragged Nico the rest of the way to a bed. “That should be all it is, but check him out anyway, alright?”

He checked his watch. “Shit. Nina, is it alright if he sleeps it off here? I need to get back and shower before Rebecca comes to pick me up.”

“Wait,” June said. “Worick...you’re just going to…?” He was going to go see a  _ client _ ? After all that? “How can you just…?”

He turned back to her and flashed one of his winning smiles, but this time, there was nothing behind it. No mirth or cheerfulness. His one blue eye looked so tired. “Pays the bills.”

She had no response to that, only watched him stop for a moment in Dr. Theo’s office and then walk out the door. That look in his eyes had stopped her cold. He’d killed two people that day, one from a distance, one up close and personal. And now he was going to go off and see a client, and pretend everything was fine, act cheerful and suave, because that was what she was paying for.

Was it horrible that he could do that? Or that he had to?

Nicolas had fallen back asleep, and she sat in a chair by his bed and tried to make it all fit together in her head. Nina and Dr. Theo had another patient, but when they finished up, Nina came and took his vitals. She and Dr. Theo found the small wound where he’d been shot with the downers and bandaged it. They had no other patients after that, so Nina came to join June.

“He’s alright,” said Nina, not quite as chipper as June was used to. “He’ll wake up soon.”

June nodded. “Nina...what are downers?”

“Oh,” answered Nina, “of course, you wouldn’t know. Celebrer comes in two parts, uppers and downers. Uppers are responsible for a lot of Twilights abilities. Downers stabilize things, and make sure the uppers don’t cause damage. Usually they’re taken together, but if you take extra downers...” She looked at Nicolas. “Everyone needs a different dose. Nico is really sensitive to downers.”

June nodded. With Nicolas sleeping soundly, and apparently unharmed, she started to get restless. Eventually she asked Theo if he had anything she could do. She was folding laundry when she heard footsteps and turned to see Nicolas back on his feet.

“Oh, you’re up,” she smiled at him. “Nicolas, that was…”

“Never do that again.”

“What?”

“Try and protect me.” He walked toward her as he spoke. His voice had little expression, but his eyes...was he angry with her? “Never do that again. You’ll just get hurt. Stupid.”

She stood, trying to process what he’d just said, but there was an echo in her mind.

_ Stupid girl… _

The memory cut through her thoughts. It wasn’t Nicolas’ voice. It was a voice she recognized, a voice that felt familiar, but that she couldn’t name. A voice that frightened her.

Nicolas turned to walk away.

“Hey!” she said, catching up to him and grabbing his arm. “Hey!” She said again when she was sure he could see what she was saying. “You can’t just...you just left me there, Nicolas! And I’m glad you helped that other guy, but you...I know you could have just scared those men away. But you were having fun! Were you just looking for a fight? Is that why you agreed to take me? Because it was in the contested zone and you were looking for a fight? You were having so much fun, I bet you let your guard down, and I couldn’t...I couldn’t just…” 

He pulled his arm away, and she grabbed him again. “No. Is that what you were doing, when you found me? Looking for a fight? An excuse? You didn’t have to kill them.” The words the men had used ran through her head. Animal. Monster. “Was I just...incidental?”

Nicolas jerked his arm away again and signed something. She didn’t understand it, but his signing was more expressive than his face or his voice. He was definitely angry with her. When he turned to go again, she let him.

“Nico, wait!” June turned to see Nina and Dr. Theo, who’d apparently witnessed the entire conversation. Nina hurried after Nicolas. “Wait, Nico! You’re not discharged yet!”

June followed to the clinic door, but no further. Dr. Theo walked up to stand beside her. “He said, ‘you asked for my help,’ if that means anything to you.”

Did it? She remembered shouting, “no!” But of course that had done nothing. And then the men stopped, and she was looking over Jimmy’s shoulder at the stranger with the sword. She wanted to scream and struggle and call out, but all she could manage was to mouth the words “help me,” with no sound.

She nodded, but said nothing more, and after another moment her silence was interrupted by a peel of laughter. She looked up to see Nina in Nicolas’ arms. He ran for a wall, then  _ up _ the wall, finally springing off in a backflip before landing on his feet like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Okay, okay,” said Nina through her laughter. Nicolas threw her up in the air and then caught her, like a parent might do with a toddler. “Okay, I believe you, you’re feeling fine,” said Nina as he set her back down. “What about June?” She asked as he turned to go. He signed back. “Oh..okay,” said Nina, quietly, before heading back to the clinic.

“Worick spoke to me earlier, about what happened,” said Dr. Theo. She’d almost forgotten he was there while she watched Nicolas and Nina. “We should have a free bed, if you’d rather stay here tonight.”

“Oh…” She never needed to see him again, if she didn’t want to. That’s what Worick had told her, before they took Nicolas to the clinic. “No, thank you, but that’s alright. I would…” Going back to the apartment with Nicolas right then still wasn’t very appealing. “I’d like to stay a little longer, though. Finish up the laundry. Dr. Theo?” she asked.

“Mhmm?” 

“Do you think you could teach me some basic first aid? Or Nina could? I’ll pay in chores. All I know how to do is put a bandaid on a paper cut.”

###  ***

It was near dark when she made her way back to the apartment. Nina had agreed to be her first-aid teacher, as well as her sign language instructor, and she’d raided Dr. Theo’s fridge and made them both dinner as a thank you.

Nicolas was sitting at the desk with a book when she came through the door. He looked up--she was never sure how he did it, whether it was really good peripheral vision, or the vibration of the door closing. He stood and walked downstairs without a word or a sign, leaving the book on the desk.

She sighed and shrugged and walked to the desk, looking to see what he’d been reading. It was the sign language guide he’d shown her. She’d been using it to practice, but it was hard to get the signs right just from the two-dimensional pictures. It seemed like a strange choice; Nicolas must have already known everything in it. She wondered if it had sentimental value. It was a little bit damaged; there was what looked like a burn on one corner. Maybe it had been through some shit. Like Nicolas had.

She set the book back down and went to the window to watch for Worick. She didn’t mark time until he got home, but it was a relief when she saw him walk through the alley and toward the apartment. Even alone, the air in the office felt tense with the knowledge that Nicolas was downstairs, avoiding her. She saw Worick start up the steps, but the door never opened. After a few minutes, she went outside and found him sitting on the steps with a lit cigarette. She made her way down until she stood beside him.

“Oh, June with the curly hair,” he said when he looked up. The nickname came as a surprise. “You came back.” He smiled at her, and it was smaller and softer and sadder than the cheerful grin she was used to. And it looked real.

“Yeah,” she sat down beside him, then leaned her shoulder gently against his. Underneath the smoke of the cigarette, he smelled of something artificial and flowery. Rebecca’s perfume, she supposed. “Had to make sure Nic didn’t try to cook on his own again,” she continued.

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” said Worick. She’d told him about the noodles. “You must have just caught him on an absent-minded day.”

“I think he’s really mad at me,” she said.

“Oh?”

“He said I shouldn’t have tried to help him. Said it was stupid. That I would have just gotten hurt.”

“He’s not wrong,” Worick said. More gently, at least, than Nic, with a sigh in his voice.

She nodded. “I know. But what was I supposed to do? They could’ve killed him.”

“Do you think he would have wanted you to die, too?” Asked Worick. It wasn’t an accusation. It felt more like a reminder. A reality check.

“No, but...I couldn’t just stand there. I…” she thought back to the moment, the fear, the man advancing on her with the knife. “I think I’d do it again. I  _ want  _ to be someone who would do it again.”

“Aww, June,” sighed Worick. “We gotta get you out of here. Hard for me, though.” He put out his cigarette on the step and then leaned to rest his head on her shoulder. “I’m starting to like having you around. You’re a good sous chef.”

“Hmm.” The concept of ‘home’ felt distant. Here, with the Handymen...that was what felt real, now. “Did I look silly? Standing there with the sword, trying to be brave?”

“I don’t know. I was too scared to think about it.”

“You were scared?”

“Of course I was, seeing you and Nic in trouble like that. Now I’ve got both of you to watch out for. He can be a little reckless, you’ve seen, and you’re…”

“Naive?” She would have accepted it, if he’d agreed.

“A little too brave, it turns out. For a sweet girl from a house with a picket fence.”

Picket fences again. The voice from earlier echoed in her head again.  _ Stupid girl _ . She wondered who it was.

“Bad things can happen in houses with picket fences, you know.” She felt Worick’s head shift on her shoulder a little. When she didn’t elaborate, he spoke.

“You know, when I was a kid, I lived in a big house. Our fence was wrought iron, tall, with gates. Bet you wouldn’t have guessed that.”

She didn’t want to tell him her answer, because it was no, she wouldn’t have guessed it. She’d always assumed he’d grown up in Ergastulum, probably poor...he’d only been eighteen in that poster. He’d already lost his eye. What had happened to Worick, for him to end up here? To both of them?

“Worick?” She asked. “How did you and Nic end up...as the Handymen?”

“Now, that,” answered Worick, “is a long story, June with the curly hair.” She thought that maybe she didn’t mind the nickname. Worick didn’t elaborate any further.

###  ***

June stood in front of Nicolas’ door. Two days had gone by. She was still struggling with what she’d seen Worick do, but she was starting to accept that the man who was so kind to her was the same person as the man who’d tortured the Anti-Twilight, and that one didn’t cancel out the other. 

Nicolas, though, was avoiding her relentlessly. Mostly he’d been staying downstairs when she was in the apartment. Sometimes he sat by the window and simply didn’t look when she tried to say hello.

She’d finally asked Worick about it, and he’d told her that Nicolas was trying to protect her. When she asked just what his avoidance was protecting her from, he’d answered, “From caring about him enough to charge a gang of Anti-Twilights with a sword,” and smiled. It took her a few more hours of turning that over in her head before she went downstairs to talk to Nicolas.

The dilemma was whether to just open the door, or try and knock loud enough that he’d feel the vibration. She hated the idea of knocking like that, but they already weren’t on the best of terms, so after taking a breath, she banged on the door three times.

The door opened a moment later to reveal a surprised looking Nicolas. He’d probably been expecting Worick.

**“Nicolas,”** she signed, **“I want to talk to you.”** She’d been practicing the signs for two days, but she still wasn’t confident she had them right, so she spoke along with them.

He nodded, but made no move to step out of the doorway. Well, they were going to talk in the hallway, she supposed.

“You were right,” she said. “Of course you were right, but...that’s not even the point.” She shook her head. “This city...is it weird that I know this is different from what I’m used to, even though I can’t remember what I’m used to? It’s been fascinating and terrifying, and you and Worick have been so kind to me…”

“How could I not, Nicolas? How could I not try and protect you? But everything I’ve seen…” she stopped and made herself take a breath. She thought she had everything she wanted to say planned out, but now she floated from thought to thought, trying to say it all at once. Nicolas watched, waiting for her to finish. 

“I’m glad those men are dead,” she said in a rush. It wasn’t even what she’d been planning on saying. “I’m not used to thinking that way. I don’t think I’ve ever  _ had  _ to think that way. But I’m glad those men are dead. They can’t hurt me anymore. They can’t hurt anyone anymore. And...you’re not a monster, Nicolas.” Because the word had been echoing through her head since they encountered the Anti-Twilights. Monster. monster. 

“I know what they say about Twilights, or I know some of it, but I don’t...I don’t know what it’s like. I’d never actually _heard_ it before. But you’re not a monster. _I_ don’t think you’re a monster. I said that to Worick, right at the beginning, but I never said it to you. So I’m saying it. Now. Nicolas, I just…” she switched to signing, **“I want to talk to you, Nicolas.”** She did. She wanted him to answer her, to tell her what he was thinking, what his life was like, what all of this was like, for him. “I just talk at you, and I want to talk to you. I want to know…”

He reached out and took both her hands, and she forgot how she’d planned on finishing the sentence.

“You’re signing it wrong,” he said. He moved her hands, adjusting positions and angles. “Like this. Nicolas.”

###  ***

Later in the day, she found herself sitting on the steps with Worick again, trying not to think about the dangers of secondhand smoke.

“So, you patched things up with Nic, huh?” He asked.

“I think so,” she answered. “As best as I can tell.”

Worick smiled. “I’m glad. Things were getting a little tense.”

“I told him he was right. And he was. I had no business messing around with that sword. So, Worick?”

“Hmm?” he turned to her.

“I think you should teach me how to shoot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Towards the beginning of this project, I was talking to my WONDERFUL AMAZING AND TALENTED beta reader, FrostWolfGirl, who was working on her own project, and I was just thinking, why do we love sad murder boys? And, spoilers, this fic is gonna touch on that just a teeny bit. But one thing I always wonder with characters like Worick and Nic is: we love them so much, but how would we feel about them if we actually met them, and actually witnessed the things they did and the things they're capable of. So without spoiling her backstory too much, I wanted to write June as an ordinary girl from outside the world of Ergastulum and poke around how she deals with the contradictions of the Handymen; their potential for kindness and they're potential for violence. So that's a story about this chapter, I guess.


	7. Seven: June with the Curly Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June struggles to feel excited about returning to a life she doesn't remember, Nic discovers romance novels, and Worick has nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think we were done with the random romance novel thing? Because we're not.

“Finger  _ off _ the trigger,” chided Worick, just a hint of anxiety in his voice. She adjusted her hand. “Why is it important to keep our finger off the trigger until we’re ready to shoot?” He quizzed her.

“So we don’t kill our friends.” She suspected the gun safety lesson she’d been given before they started was a little less formal than she might have received at a gun range. But they were in an empty warehouse in what Worick called the Abandoned District, and her targets were a series of bottles and cans. The Cristianos had a gun range, but it was booked that day, and all the private places charged usage fees.

“Alright. Left thumb over right thumb. Right foot forward. Lean forward a little.” He put his hands on her shoulders and adjusted her stance. “There.” He stepped back. “Now, aim, and fire.”

She took a deep breath, let it out, and…

“Hey, aren’t you going to do the thing where you stand behind me and put your hands over my hands, like in the movies?” She asked. “You know, to make sure my stance is right?” She was flirting to stall for time. Maybe she’d been spending too much time with him.

“Oh, like this?” He walked up behind her and leaned down to put his arms around her, covering each of her hands with one of his. “You want me to hold your hand?” He whispered the question in her ear. And then he let go and stood back. “Uh-uh. You wanted to learn how to shoot, so  _ you _ have to pull the trigger.

“Okay, okay,” she said, still not moving her finger to the trigger. She felt silly; it had taken her a while to convince Worick to give her this lesson in the first place, and now she was on the verge of chickening out.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “We can just go back to the office. Pick up a soda on the way. Guns are a serious thing, June. In this city, they’re not for hunting or showing off your sharpshooting. In this city, guns are for killing people. You don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to kill someone, and if you can’t do that...there’s no shame in that.”

She took one last breath, and wondered if she could. Would she have been able to use the sword, if it had come to that? Or would she have only stood there, holding it with both hands and shaking?

She thought of those men calling out to the D category Twilight, how scared he’d looking running past her.

_ We don’t want animals like you around here. _

_ Gotta teach him a lesson for trespassing. Fucking Tag. _

She thought of Jimmy.

_ Don’t want to have to deliver you with bruises. _

She didn’t want to hurt anyone. But she did want to be able to protect the people she cared about, if it came to that.

Her finger moved to the trigger, and she squeezed. It was harder than she expected, and the bang was a surprise, no matter how much she’d prepared herself for it. The kickback wasn’t as strong as she’d expected it, but she still felt the tremor run down the bones of her arm.

She let go of the breath she’d been holding, and took her finger off the trigger.

“Okay!” said Worick. “Safety on. We remember the safety because…?”

“We don’t want to shoot our dicks off,” she answered. She felt like she was in a state of a little bit of shock, but she clicked the safety on. Worick had loaded the magazine with only one bullet, anyway.

“Alright, put it down, and let’s see how you did.”

She set the gun on the crate set next to them, and followed Worick to the wall where the cans and bottles were lined up.

“Not bad, not bad,” he hummed, pointing to a bullet hole in the wall next to one of the bottles. “You almost had it.”

“Oh,” she looked at the hole in the wall. It was a very solid, very real expression of what she’d done. 

_ In this city, guns are for killing people. _

“Worick, um...I was aiming for that one.” She pointed to a can to the left.

“Well, okay,” Worick gave a soft laugh. “I think we can still work with this. After all, I learned from Gunslinger Danny himself.”

###  ***

June’s nightmares were fading. She no longer feared seeing Jimmy’s face at night, and she’d honestly seen enough blood to replace the lingering memories of the scene Nicolas had left when he’d recognized her. If only her memories were returning at the same speed.

The next time she was at Dr. Theo’s, she asked him about it.

“That makes sense, given that you received the drug in a single, large dose, rather than a long period of smaller doses,” answered Theo, taking a drag on his cigarette. By the time June had noticed his smoking habit, she’d been beyond questioning why a doctor would take up smoking. This was Ergastulum. 

“The anxiety and hallucinations are symptoms of withdrawal, whereas the memory loss is more like a side effect,” he continued. “Are you remembering anything at all?” He was missing the last two fingers on his left hand, the one with which he held the cigarette, at the first knuckle. That had taken her a little while to notice, as well. She wondered what had happened, but didn’t ask. The nature of the injury made her think it hadn’t been an accident. This was Ergastulum.

She went to pull out the notepad she kept in her back pocket to take notes, and immediately realized it wasn’t there, and that this was the first time she’d remembered it.

“Oh...well, little things that don’t tell me much. Voices that I recognize but can’t name. Apparently I used to carry around a notepad in case I needed to make notes, but I don’t know why. Oh, and I know shorthand. I started writing in it without realizing, the first time I took a message for Worick and Nic.”

“Well, that’s interesting,” he replied, considering. “June, while you’re waiting for the rest of it to come back...be careful.”

“Careful?”

“Worick mentioned that you’re a terrible shot.”

She nodded. “I asked him to teach me, after what happened in the contested zone.”

“Yes, and you’re learning first aid here. It’s almost as if you’re planning to stay. During these episodes of memory loss, it’s not uncommon to see people form attachments to their immediate situation. Because right now, it feels like all you know. But this isn’t your home, June. You’re not a Handyman. If this goes on too much longer, you might want to look into getting out of the city. You may not be able to leave the country, but you could go to East Gate or West Gate.”

“Oh…”

“June with the curly hair!” Nina saved her from needing to think of a reply by choosing that moment to run into the office.

“Hi, Nina,” she said, smiling, ignoring Dr. Theo’s slightly displeased expression. “Why has everyone been calling me that, lately?”

“Oh, it’s what Nico calls you,” answered Nina. “Like this.” She made a sign June wasn’t familiar with. “See, this is  _ June _ ,” she demonstrated, “and this is _ curly _ , and this is  _ hair. _ It’s like a real name for you, instead of just using the month.”

“Really?” She hadn’t been fully sure he wasn’t still angry with her, so the idea warmed her a little bit. “Well, he could have told me.”

“Hey, Dr. Theo,” she turned back and asked, “could I use your phone, before I head out?” Dr. Theo’s warning hung in her mind, in part because he was right. This did feel like all she knew. In the void of her memory, she was still alone. But here, she had friends.

###  ***

_ Gun Shop. Firearms & Police Equipment. Constance. _

June looked at the sign identifying the shop. She’d passed by here a few times on deliveries, but never gone inside. But when she called Bastard looking for Ally, the man who answered had told her that she was probably here with Constance, the owner.

When she walked through the doorway, she was greeted by a chipper voice.

“Hello! What can I help you with today?” Constance had hair cropped in a pixie cut, several piercing in both ears, and a bright smile. She was missing her left arm just below the shoulder.

June blinked a few times before she said anything. Automatic rifles and shotguns covered the walls. Constance stood behind a counter display stocked with handguns, and behind her was a case stocked with different types of ammunition. It felt foreign to her, like Worick’s gun had felt when he first put it in her hands during their lesson. Picket fences, indeed. All evidence pointed that way.

But a familiar face was sitting at the counter, seated on a stool and holding a cup of tea like she was at the bar of a coffee shop.

“June!” Said Ally. “Good to see you again. Connie, this is June, the Handymen’s new secretary.”

“Oh, hi!” Constance greeted her a second time. “Come in!” She held out her hand, and June stepped further into the shop to shake it. “I’m Connie. I heard about you, but I’ve been out the last few times Worick and Nic have been by. Last time Worick came back for bullets, he said he was teaching you to shoot. Did you really try to use Nic’s sword?”

“You  _ touched  _ Nicolas’ sword?” Asked Ally, eyes widening.

“I...well…” June trailed off, unsure of how to explain the situation.

“Oh, how rude of me!” Interjected Connie. “Let me go get you some tea, and see if I can find another stool for you. Then you can tell us the whole story.”

“I’ll help you with the tea,” said Ally. “June, just take my seat for now.”

“If anyone comes in, tell them I’ll be right back!” Called Connie from the back room.

June didn’t feel completely comfortable minding a gun shop while the owner was in back, but it only took a moment for the two women to return, Ally carrying two cups of tea and Connie carrying a second stool. Connie set the stool down for Ally, and Ally set down one cup of tea for June, and another for Connie.

“Alright,” Connie leaned down with her elbow on the counter and looked at June with bright eyes. “Tell us what happened. I can’t even imagine the look on his face.”

“Well,” said June, putting her thoughts together. The real story wasn’t very funny, but she could imagine just the look Connie must have been thinking of. “We were in trouble. Or, he was. He couldn’t fight, and there were these people...Worick called them Anti-Twilights.”

Connie’s expression darkened, and she heard Ally give a little gasp. June thought they must both be familiar with the term.

“I was afraid they were going to kill him,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do. So I picked up the sword and told them to stay back.”

“Wow,” said Constance. “What happened?”

“Worick,” June answered, simply.

“Nicolas rescued me once, when I got in over my head trying to help someone,” said Ally. June was relieved not to be the center of attention anymore. “It was back when I was staying with them. One of Worick’s clients had asked him to find her missing cat, and I offered to go looking. I’d spotted her, and I was going after her down an alley, but then I saw a bunch of men hurting this little Twilight girl.”

Connie sighed. “That sort of thing happens too often, around here.”

“I grabbed a pipe and hit one of them,” Ally continued. “But there were too many of them. Another one of them grabbed me, and he was going to hit me, but then Nicolas just came out of nowhere. He had all of them on the ground before I could blink. I thought he was going to be angry with me for getting into trouble, but he just went through the men’s wallets and gave half the money to me, and half the money to the little girl. And,” she smiled, “as he was handing me the money, the cat I was looking for just popped out of his shirt. I don’t even know how he knew she was the one I was looking for.”

“Wait,” said June. “He came to rescue you, and the whole time he was carrying a cat in his shirt?”

“Uh-huh,” said Ally, grinning.

June laughed. “Cats and kids, huh?”

Ally and Connie looked at her, questioningly.

“I mean,” she explained, “well, when I first met Nicolas, I was pretty frightened of him. Even though he’d saved me.” Ally nodded like she understood. “But then we went to the clinic, and I saw how he is with Nina. And I always figure, if cats and kids like a guy, you can probably trust him. Dogs, too. Haven’t seen any dogs around here, though.”

An image ran through her mind. White fur with black patches. Big paws on a little body. A wagging tail.

“I think I used to have a dog…” she said, quietly. “Ally...when your memories came back...I feel like I’m getting all these little details, and none of them help me figure out who I actually  _ was. _ Was it like that for you?”

Ally shook her head. “Not exactly. But my case was different. I was on TBs for a long time. I could remember my life back to when I started taking them. Just nothing before then. So I knew at least a little bit about who I was. The new drug they’re using...you lost everything before you woke up here, right?”

June nodded, and sighed. She just wanted someone to give her a different answer, but she supposed that this answer, just keep waiting, was the only one she was going to get. “You know, you’re lucky Nicolas wasn’t mad at you. He was furious with me. He actually spoke to me, to tell me how stupid I’d been. It might have been the most I’ve ever heard him speak out loud. Do you think it was because I grabbed the sword? I get that it’s kind of, his thing.”

“That’s just like him,” said Connie. “Of course, he wouldn’t be  _ grateful _ that you tried to help him.”

“Actually, that’s probably it,” said Ally. “Not the sword. That you were protecting him. I bet he would’ve hated the thought that you could have been hurt because of him.”

“Worick said something kind of like that,” said June. “Hey, Ally, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” answered Ally.

“I saw Dr. Theo today,” June started to explain. “And, well...after what happened with Nicolas, I asked Worick to teach me how to shoot, and he’d heard about that. And I’d asked Nina to teach me some first aid. I hope I never have to shoot at anyone, but I just wanted to be able to do something more useful, if something like that ever happened again. And Theo said he was worried that I was acting like I was planning to stay. And he said that I was just getting attached to my immediate surroundings because I couldn’t remember anything else.”

“He said something like that to me, once, too,” said Ally.

“Someone else warned me about staying, too. Granny Joel, the woman with the cigarette shop.”

“Oh, don’t fret about anything my grandma says,” said Connie. “She worries about everyone, but she only shows it by acting grouchy.”

“Granny Joel is your grandma?” June asked.

“Mhmm,” hummed Connie. June couldn’t quite imagine the two people related. Connie seemed so immediately bubbly, and Joel was...like Connie had said: grouchy.

“So, Ally, the thing I really wanted to ask you,” said June, “is that, after you got your memories back, why did you decide to stay?”

Ally sighed, and her smile turned bittersweet. “I don’t know if you’re really going to like the answer to that,” she said. “But it’ll be different for you. I was with Barry...he was my pimp...for years before I got out and started staying with the Handymen, and got off of the TBs. So a lot of time had passed. I can actually remember sitting here, when I met Connie for the first time, and she asked me about my family. And it was the first time I remembered my little brother. But I remembered a little boy. When I finally found him, he’d grown up.”

June just watched and listened as Ally talked. To be lost for so many years...June couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t find a way to fit the sadness of it in her mind.

“It did get rough a few times, staying with the Handymen. I met them right before the hunts last summer. But by the time I remembered everything, I had friends here, and a job offer to sing at Bastard. And once I remembered, it turned out I didn’t have anything to go back to, back in East Gate. But…” she hurried to add, “I’m sure it won’t be like that for you, June. You’ve only been missing your memories for a few weeks. I’m sure you’ll remember soon. And when you do, nothing will have changed for you. You’ll be able to go back home, and it’ll be just the way it was.”

###  ***

Evening had fallen when she got back to the office. She’d spent the walk turning over Theo’s warning and Alex’s story in her head, wishing she could stop thinking about any of it. When she opened the door, she found Worick and Nicolas sitting together on one of the sofas, backs to her, both looking down at a book that Nicolas was holding between them. It was a cheap paperback, and from there it wasn’t wasn’t hard to guess what it was.

She closed the door carefully, and snuck up behind them. It turned out to be  _ The Viscount’s Mistress. _

“Oh, that’s a really good part,” she put a hand on each of their shoulders and leaned down between them, “although I never thought ‘turgid’ was a very sexy word.” 

Worick gave a little start and then laughed. Nicolas just froze; she could feel his muscles tense under her hand. She doubted it was from surprise. She couldn’t imagine she’d actually snuck up without either of them noticing, honestly. Had she ever actually touched Nicolas, beyond tapping his arm to get his attention? Worick seemed to be a tactile person; as soon as he’d noticed she didn’t mind, he’d started leaning against her casually or even putting his arm around her shoulder when they talked. But Nicolas...she didn’t think she’d seen anyone touch him except Ally and Nina. Maybe she’d been a little too bold.

“ _ The Highlander’s Dark Desire _ is actually better,” she said, standing and walking to the bookcase. “More kilts, fewer unfortunate word choices.” She pulled the book off the shelf and tossed it to Worick. Nicolas was already heading for the stairs, clearly trying to distance himself from the conversation now that June had arrived. He signed something quickly before he disappeared, but all she managed to catch was Worick’s name.

“Worick, did you traumatize poor Nico with the cheap girl porn?” She asked as she sat down on the opposite sofa, using Nina’s nickname for him.

Worick laughed. “Hey, Nic might act aloof most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he’s a monk. He was the one who picked it up and started reading.”

June couldn’t help laughing along with Worick at the thought. Knowing both of them, she thought there was about an equal chance that Nicolas  _ had _ picked up the book, or that Worick was lying.

Worick started to page through the book, turning the pages so quickly it almost looked like he was reading a flip-book, watching the pictures move.

“Hey,” she chided. “You can’t just skim through it for the sex, that’s cheating.” He didn’t answer, so she leaned down, trying to put herself in his field of vision. “What, you find one of the good parts already?” Honestly, he seemed to be looking at the book in deep concentration. And then she noticed his eye moving. His good eye moved quickly, back and forth, line by line. “You can speed read?” She asked.

He still didn’t answer, so she just watched until he set the book down on the coffee table a few minutes later.

“I guess I’m a fast reader, yeah,” he said.

“Come on, you read that whole book, just now? It’s light reading, but...alright, I’m going to give you a quiz.” She knew some people could read like that, but she still didn’t quite believe it. “What happens when Moira’s brother Duncan comes to rescue her, because he believes Alastair is holding her captive?”

“Hmm,” Worick’s expression went far away for a moment. “Duncan challenges Alastair to a duel to the death, but when Alastair is winning, Moira begs him to spare her brother. Later they find out that Duncan knew Alastair hadn’t kidnapped Moira all along; he just wanted her back so that their father could marry her off to a wealthy English lord.”

“Wow...so is that part of the photographic memory thing? You’ve just got the whole thing in your head now?” It fascinated June, but Worick seemed humble about it, just shrugging his shoulders and nodding.

“Oh,” she continued, “well...sorry you’ve got that book in your head forever, I guess.” She smiled.

“I think I’ll be okay,” he said, running a hand through his hair and smiling. “So, what did Dr. Theo say?”

She sighed. “That it makes sense that the nightmares are going away faster than the memories are coming back. Oh, and that I should be careful about forming strong attachments to temporary situations before I remember who I am.”

“That’s what he said?” Responded Worick. “Well, he’s probably right. But don’t worry; we don’t mind having you around until then.”

###  ***

June’s nightmares may have been fading, but ever since the incident with the Anti-Twilights, something else had been waking her at night. The first couple of times, she had just woken up, not sure what had caused it. But the third time, she realized she could hear soft movement from Worick’s room, and the sound of quick, panicked breathing. It seemed it was his turn for nightmares.

She left it alone for a while. The Handymen were tough guys, she told herself, who probably didn’t need or want some naive girl from the land of picket fences to try and comfort them. 

The night Worick actually cried out, she changed her mind. She rose from the couch and padded, barefoot, to the door.

“Worick?” She called out softly. She knocked gently on the door, wanting to let him know she was there without startling him.

“Mhmm?” His response was soft and sleep-muddled.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure,” there was a tired breathiness to his voice.

She opened the door and slipped inside. The room was dark, lit by nothing but the starlight. Worick was sitting up in bed, a silhouette with broad shoulders and disheveled hair, rubbing his left eye. She wondered, sometimes, if it ever hurt.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m fine. You did wake me. It’s okay, though.”

“Mmm, sorry,” he said, sighing. “It was just a nightmare.”

“I could tell,” she replied. “You’ve been having a lot of those.”

“Oh, this isn’t the first time? Sorry, sorry.” 

“No, um, stop apologizing, okay?” She took a step closer to him. “That’s not why I knocked.”

“Oh?” He asked. He shifted to lean against the wall next to his window, and pulled his legs up toward his chest. It put his face fully in shadow, so she couldn’t see his expression, but broad shoulders or no, he seemed smaller, in that moment.

Why had she knocked? She knew the answer until she tried to put it into words; then it just dissolved into best intentions and attempts to know things she’d probably never be able to understand.

“Can I...can I come sit?” She asked, tentatively.

“Oh, you’re finally coming to bed with me?” There was a thinness to the joking flirtation in his voice, but he patted the mattress next to him, and she climbed on, leaning against the wall on the other side of the window, not close enough to touch.

Nicolas had been a mystery from the beginning, but the more time she spent with Worick, the clearer it became that he was just as hard to figure out. Nicolas rarely showed emotion. Worick was bold and brash, cheerful, smiling; but navigating exactly which smiles were real, and which were for show, was a maze.

“What did you dream about?” she asked. It was a stupid question. Probably the last thing he wanted to talk about.

“What were your nightmares about?” He asked in response. An evasion, of course; she’d expected that. Or just a rhetorical question. What were anyone’s nightmares about? Nothing good. She decided to answer him.

“Jimmy, mostly,” she said, looking up at the dark ceiling. “The way he looked at me. How it felt when the other man tried to push me down on my knees. There was a while after I had the hallucination when I was afraid of seeing him in the dark, even when I was awake. I wasn’t even afraid he’d really be there. I just didn’t want to see his face again.”

She felt Worick shift, and then her hand was in his. He squeezed gently.

“Sometimes I dream about the night before,” she continued. She’d never told anyone about this part of the dream. Worick had heard her give her statement to Detective Adkins, and Nicolas had been right there, rescuing her from Jimmy, but this part she’d never shared. “I was at a bar. I think Jimmy was there. I think I can remember his voice. But there was someone else. I can’t remember anything about them, not their voice, their face, not even if it was a man or a woman. They’re just a shadow. But I think they were my friend. And I remember that I went somewhere, maybe just to the bathroom and they promised to watch my drink. And I remember picking up the glass, and...some friend, I guess.”

“What were you drinking?” Worick asked.

It seemed like a strange question, but she answered without thinking. “Gin and tonic.”

“Oh, very classy, very classy,” he laughed, just softly, like it was real but he didn’t quite have the energy for it.

“Yeah, I do it because it makes me feel classy,” she said. “And I’ve never liked beer. I hate the smell of it.”

“Oh, is  _ that _ why you always go and sit on the steps when I open one?” Asked Worick. She hadn’t seen him drink much when he wasn’t out, but he had a beer every once in a while.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, I’d be happy to switch to vodka, if it would make you more comfortable.”

This time she was the one who laughed. She shifted their hands and moved closer so she could lean over against his shoulder. It meant the window ledge dug into her back a little bit, but in the quiet dark, she wanted the connection.

“I can’t remember any of this stuff when I try. It’s only when I don’t think about it; when people ask me questions I’m not expecting, or sometimes it just comes by surprise. Like that I was drinking a gin and tonic, or this notebook that I remembered I used to have. I overpaid for some stupid brand name because I thought it would make me feel like a real…” A real what? The memory floated off as quickly as it had come. “Damn it. Do you think I was a writer?”

“Maybe,” Worick said. “Maybe you wrote romance novels.”

“I don’t think that was it,” she said, smiling into the dark. “ _ The Highlander’s Dark Desire _ would have jogged my memory by now.”

“Well, June with the curly hair,” he said. “I’ll just have to try and ask you more unexpected questions.”

They sat together for a few minutes in silence. Was this what she’d knocked for? Had she helped at all, or only dumped her own nightmares on top of his? He was still holding on to her hand. How often, she wondered, did someone touch this man, someone who wasn’t trying to hurt him, or paying for the privilege?

“Not remembering can’t be so bad,” Worick broke the silence. “Can it? I remember everything. And I dream about my bad memories, too.”

She turned to look at him, then, but in the dim light, there wasn’t much to see. She was on his left side, and she’d never seen him without the eye patch, but it only looked like his eye was closed.

“Do you want me to stay?” She asked. It felt less silly than it had when she’d first come into the room, or when she’d taken her blanket down the stairs to sleep outside Nicolas’ door. It didn’t feel childish, or inappropriate. It just felt human.

“Oh,” she could tell she’d surprised him, and he turned to look at her, shifting his shoulders so he could see her with his good eye. “I...if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Nah,” she laughed, so soft it was almost unvoiced. “I trust you. I’d trust you to watch my drink at a bar.” It was true, she realized as she said it.

“We should go out sometime,” said Worick. “Find an excuse to celebrate something. Nic never wants to go with me. He says I stay out too late when drinks are involved. When you asked for water at Bastard I was worried you were the same way. I’ll buy you a gin and tonic, next time.”

“I just didn’t think it was a good idea to drink so soon after being dosed with an unknown combination of drugs and losing all my memories,” she said.

She stood up from the bed so Worick could lay back down. When he was settled, lying on his side facing her, he held the blanket up and patted the mattress next to him. She hesitated.

“We could sleep head to foot, if you want,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if he was joking.

“Why would I want to sleep next to your feet?” She answered with a smile, and climbed into the bed. She laid her head on the pillow, and for a moment their foreheads were almost touching. “Hmm, roll over,” she said, pushing on his shoulder. “I don’t want to smell your nicotine breath all night.”

“Hey, is it really that bad?” He said before turning over.

She didn’t answer, just put her arm around his shoulder and moved closer, even though she was a little too short to really be the big spoon. Her forehead came to rest between his shoulder blades, and for a minute, she thought it might be too much, laying there in bed next to a man who made a living off his good looks and slept only in a pair of boxer briefs, a man who was still partly a stranger, who she might feel close to only because she’d forgotten everyone else. But his skin was clammy with the sweat of the nightmare that had woken him, and she decided that it was okay.

###  ***

She woke to the feeling of Worick’s slow breathing in her hair, an arm draped around her shoulders. They’d both rolled over in their sleep, it seemed. She could feel his chest rise and fall against her back, and the weight of his arm around her was comforting. Really, it would have been extremely comfortable if it weren’t for the pressure of his morning erection against her hip.

She tried to shift, but his arm closed tighter around her. “Worick,” she whispered. His reply was a sleepy murmur. “Worick,” she said again, more sharply. “Hey, Worick,” she elbowed him in the chest, trying not to do it too hard.

“What?” His head moved as he woke. “Oh, June. What is it?”

“Your dick is poking me in the back.”

“Oh. Oh! Sorry, sorry,” he moved back, propping himself on one arm as she stood up. “It’s not...I mean, it’s just…”

“I know, I know, you’re a guy, it’s morning, whatever.” She shook her head and brushed her hair out of her face. “Well, I’m awake now. I’m going to go take a shower before Nic uses up all the hot water.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing platonic co-sleeping as a comfort thing, and I will die on that hill.
> 
> When June caught them reading the romance novel, Nicolas signed: "It was Worick's idea." Which one of them is lying, and which one is telling the truth, is a secret I shall take to my grave.
> 
> I'm being very melodramatic in this chapter's end notes.


	8. Eight: Patches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for SOME PLOT? Are you ready for June to FINALLY REMEMBER SOMETHING? Are you ready for some SELF-INDULGENT HURT/COMFORT?
> 
> You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this is the one with the sad story about the dog. It's at the end. I cried when I wrote it so I feel your pain. It's a character telling a story though, it doesn't happen on screen.

The police followed up on the name Dmitri Antoniou, and it led them to what they hadn’t been able to find before: A brothel called Madame Rose’s, the place that Jimmy had been taking June when Nic found her. The coincidence filled June with a quiet dread, even though she couldn’t piece together what it might mean.

The police raided the place, but they’d been tipped off; maybe the Anti-Twilights had guessed that Mitch had given Worick the information before he died. Detective Adkins was looking for evidence of trafficking, illegal sale and distribution of Celebrer, and likely a number of other things. But when they got there, everything was above board, beyond the dubious legality of prostitution in Ergastulum. The books were clean, and all the girls swore they were working there of their own volition.

That was when Detective Adkins called the Handymen.

In the world of her forgotten self, the police would have taken time to regroup, planned another raid or a new strategy. But this wasn’t that world. And apparently the Handymen could do things no one else could.

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing,” said Worick when June asked. “That’s how we get our business. We can do things Chad can’t. No warrants, no paperwork, no worries.” He was at the desk, checking his gun and loading extra magazines. Nicolas leaned against the wall, already armed with his katana, watching them talk but not joining in.

“What about the Cristianos?” She asked. “Miss Cristiano told me that the situation in the contested zone was causing trouble with her business.” She was sitting on the couch, absently fiddling with a pen and trying to understand why she was so anxious about this job in particular. She knew they went into dangerous situations nearly every day.

“The Cristianos are stretched much too thin as it is,” explained Worick. “When the Four Families were in place, they were the least powerful, depending on support from Monroe. And now they’re really the only established, well-organized syndicate left in the city. They’ve got enough to do, keeping their existing operations up and running, without going after every little new outfit that pops up.”

That was more detail than June had known about how the city had functioned before. She clicked her pen open and went for her phantom notebook to jot it down before she remembered that the notebook wasn’t here, and wherever it was was lost to the past, at least for now. She thought that maybe she should get herself a new one.

“And of course, the Guild doesn’t get involved in the affairs of normals. So that leaves us. A neutral party. Why are you so worried about us, all of a sudden?” He came to sit on the sofa opposite her. “This isn’t our first clean-up job.”

Clean-up. It was ridiculous for her to worry about these two men, who talked about these things so casually, wasn’t it?

“I don’t know. I know it doesn’t really make sense. I just...don’t like how it’s connected. Or maybe it feels more real, because it is. I try not to think about your work a lot of the time, you know. I just have a bad feeling.” It wasn’t just the Handymen she was worried about. If what had happened with the Anti-Twilights was connected with Madame Rose’s, they might find something there to confirm her fear that she was more than just a random victim. But she didn’t tell Worick that. If she told him about her suspicions, she’d have to admit she had them.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and looked to see Nicolas signing at them.

“Nic says not to worry,” translated Worick. “And that I’m taking forever. See, you, June.” 

And a moment later, they were out the door and gone.

She told herself she wasn’t going to sit by the window like a woman on a widow’s walk, watching the sea. But of course, she did, staying so long that at one point she fell asleep with her head on the window frame. It was hours later when the phone rang.

“Hello, Handymen,” she answered, not managing to say it quite as cheerfully as she usually did.

“June,” she was surprised to hear Worick’s voice on the other end of the line. “It’s me.”

“Worick? Where are you? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, it’s fine--ouch!” he exclaimed. His voice became distant for a moment, like he was holding the receiver away from his face.“Nina, can’t that wait?”

“Well,” he continued, apparently having negotiated a reprieve with Nina, “things did go just a little bit sideways.”

“You’re at the clinic? Are you okay? Is Nicolas?”

“Ah, we’re fine, just a little bit banged up. We did find some things that I want to talk to you about. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come alone, right now.”

“What? Why?” she interjected.

“Don’t worry. I called in a favor with Miss Cristiano, and she’s sending a knight in shining armor to pick you up and bring you down to the clinic,” he said, skirting smoothly around the question. “He should be there soon. Listen, I have to go. The nurse is being very insistent.”

“Worick--” The line went dead, and she was left to wait for Worick’s “knight in shining armor,” even more confused and anxious than before. If he didn’t want her walking alone...did that mean they  _ had _ found something about her? Was she still in some kind of danger?

Mercifully, it was only about five minutes before there was a knock on the door.

“June?” Said a voice from outside. “It’s Galahad. Worick sent me to pick you up.”

For a moment, she’d wondered how she would tell if it was really the person Worick had sent, and then he said his name. She opened the door with a smile, and looked up...and then up. It was the man she’d seen playing piano at Bastard, but he was more impressive close up. She thought he must have been six and a half feet tall. He was in a grey dress shirt and black vest like he had been at Bastard, but close up she could see the series of piercings that dotted his face, and the dog tags hung from his collar; A/0, like Nic.

“Galahad Woehor,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand. He was a little bit intimidating, but he had a friendly, honest smile.

She shook his hand, as firmly as she could considering how it dwarfed hers, and couldn’t help laughing a little. “June. Worick said he was sending me a knight in shining armor.” 

Galahad chuckled. “I’ll thank him for the compliment when we get there.” He moved out of the doorway to make room for her to step outside. “Car’s just down the stairs.”

“They’re okay, right? Worick sounded okay.” Galahad had started down the stairs, and she followed. She didn’t think she’d seen a car since she came to Ergastulum. The Handymen didn’t own one; they walked everywhere, and most of the rest of residents seemed to, as well.

“I haven’t been down yet, but if Worick was hurt bad he would have said. And Brown’s a tough bastard.”

At the bottom of the stairs was a large black SUV. It stood out sharply against the cobblestone street.

“That’s an intimidating car,” she said.

“On loan from Miss Cristiano, along with me,” said Galahad, opening the back passenger door for her. She looked, but there was no one else in the car.

“Is it alright if I sit up front?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Sure.” He closed the door and opened the one in front, and she climbed in.

Galahad walked around to the other side of the car and got into the driver’s seat. He started the car and June thought the motion was familiar. Little, useless memories. Wherever she was from, she was used to cars.

“So you’re the new secretary,” said Galahad after a moment.

“Seems like it,” she answered. “And you play the piano. I saw you when I was at Bastard. You’re really good.”

“Thanks,” he said, seeming a little surprised by the compliment. “I started learning when the Cristianos first hired me from the Guild to help out with the club. Did you have a good time, while you were there? I’m the manager, so it’s of professional interest.”

“I did,” she said. “Well, Worick ditched me for a while, but Marco and Miss Cristiano were very nice. And I was glad to meet Ally. She’s got a beautiful voice.”

“Alex is quite a woman,” said Galahad, somewhat fondly, and June almost raised her eyebrows at him, but said nothing.

“Galahad, um, if it’s okay to ask...what does A/0 mean?” She asked instead. “I asked Nicolas once, but he just smiled.” She’d heard the term “high rank” used to refer to Nicolas a few times, and she’d seen him use the tags to intimidate people. But Nicolas made his living with his sword. Galahad wasn’t hired muscle. He played piano and managed a business. She was curious.

“Hmm,” said Galahad thoughtfully, and she wondered if she’d been too invasive, but then he answered. “Twilights get assigned ranks according to strength and ability.”

“Not your ability with the piano, though,” she inferred. 

“Nope,” Galahad confirmed, amiably enough.

Why were Twilights ranked by their ability to fight, their ability to do violence? And then people called them violent, monsters, animals...and feared them. But what did they expect?

“So does A/0 mean you and Nic are some of the toughest guys around?” she said it with a smile, and he gave a soft chuckle in return.

“Well, I’m not exactly like Nic. But you could say that.”

Even at the slow speeds that Ergastulum’s mostly pedestrian streets required, travelling by car was a lot faster than walking, and by that point, they’d already pulled up to the clinic. June steeled herself not to jump out of the car and go running. She wasn’t some hand-wringing woman in a movie waiting for warriors to return from battle.

_ Stupid girl. _

She decided it was okay if she jogged a little, which was as fast as she needed to go to keep up with Galahad’s stride, anyway.

When they got inside, they found Worick, seated on the nearst bed, with the curtain drawn back. He was deep in discussion, with Dr. Theo, and when June and Galahad walked in, they both looked up like they’d been waiting. Worick looked relieved. A cut just above his left eye looked like it might be followed by a bruise, and bandages wound around his right forearm, with a spot of blood showing through.

“Ah, they got the face. That’s gonna cost you money, man,” said Galahad, with a kind of teasing sympathy.

“At least it wasn’t my good side,” said Worick, smiling. She thought it was his neutral smile; he wasn’t actually happy, but he didn’t mine the teasing. “I’m sure a few of my clients will enjoy playing nurse.”

It was the first time June had only seen him without the eye patch the night when she’d slept in his bed after he had a nightmare, and his face had been mostly hidden in the dark. She told herself not to look too hard, but she couldn’t help looking a little. She’d wondered why he didn’t just wear a prosthetic eye, but now she could see that the lids were scarred. She told herself that she wouldn’t wonder what had happened. It was his business. He’d tell her if he wanted.

“June, now that you’re here, I’d like to draw some blood, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Dr. Theo. 

Another drop in the pit of her stomach, another cold spot. She started to ask why, and then changed her mind. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. What happened? What did you find? Where’s Nic?” She crossed her arms.

“Nic’s asleep,” answered Worick, easily intuiting what question held the most urgency for her. He gestured to the closed curtain hiding the bed behind him. “Wish I could be. Alright, sit down, both of you.” June sat down on the bed beside Worick, and Galahad found himself a folding chair.

“We found a stash of Celebrer. Mostly downers. More than a small-time outfit like that should have been able to afford.” Worick addressed this revelation mostly to Galahad. “I’ve been hearing things about disruptions in the supply chain.”

Galahad nodded. “The market was flooded, about a month ago. If anything, it’s pushed prices down, but not  _ that _ far down.”

It was Dr. Theo’s turn to speak. “We think that may be what they were using along with the TBs to drug the women they were taking. If they used downers, it would knock a person out a lot faster, and can cause memory loss as well.”

“Wait,” June said, the cold in her stomach only growing. “They gave me  _ Celebrer? _ ”

“One dose wouldn’t be enough to cause damage or dependency--you haven’t experienced any withdrawal, except from the TBs. That _ is _ why I wanted to do the blood work.”

“Is...that why you didn’t want to leave me alone?” She asked, turning to Worick. But no, it didn’t add up.

He shook his head. “There’s more. That guy, Dmitri Antoniou...he fought like a B category, at least. Nicolas took care of him, but…” he gestured to his bruised eye. “Got the drop on us, first. No tags, though, and Nic said he didn’t smell like a Twilight.”

“A hunter?” asked Galahad, with something almost like fear in his voice.

_ The equilibrium was disrupted in Ergastulum when two of the largest crime families allied with a group of Twilight hunters in an attempt to wipe out the city’s Twilight population. _

The words came clearer, this time. In her memory, she read the text off of a computer screen.

_ “How many genocides will there be, before someone pays attention?” _

It was her voice speaking.

_ “There are genocides all the time, all over the world. Nobody ever pays attention. Nobody wants to see.” _

A new voice, a woman, someone she thought she knew, who she must have been talking to.

“June? Are you alright?” Dr. Theo snapped her out of the memories.

“Oh, yeah...I just remembered something. Nothing important.” Of course it was important. But she couldn’t bring herself to say. There was a reason she was here, and she didn’t know what it was.

Worick continued on. “It wasn’t a hunter. I know, because I recognized him. Never knew his name, but he and his brother used to work for Corsica. But he was a normal. Been seeing him around for years, and all he’s ever been is a normal.”

Silence followed, a worried silence. For anything she couldn’t remember, June had relied on Worick to explain the workings of Ergastulum to her. But all three of them, Galahad and Dr. Theo as well, had nothing to say in response. They didn’t know what was going on.

“There’s one more thing,” said Worick. “Theo, where’d you put the pictures?”

“I’ve got them here,” answered Theo, pulling a small stack of photographs from one of the pockets in his lab coat. He handed them to Worick, and Worick passed them to her with an expression that was...not quite grim, but uneasy. She took them and looked, and…

They were of her. There was one taken through a window from the street. “That’s my apartment,” she said. “I remember the plant in the window. I bought it because I was disappointed that it didn’t have any green space. No...someone bought it for me.” But who?

There were two more of the apartment, one from another angle, and the other through a different window. She could just see the arm of the cute-but-battered purple loveseat she’d bought second-hand, because the living room wasn’t big enough for a full sofa. She could remember reading there. She could remember the book,  _ Ergastulum, Twilights, and the Three Laws,  _ sitting on the cushion next to her, a bright yellow band with the text, “Special Loan. Do Not Place In Book Drop,” written on it. Her laptop was in her lap; she was reading newspaper articles that had been scanned from microfilm. She was doing research.

The next picture showed her walking. “This is Ottawa. This is my apartment in Ottawa…” No picket fences, she thought. 

Then she reached the fifth picture. It was her, in the blue sundress Worick had found for her, on the street in Ergastulum. It looked like she was on the way to Granny Joel’s...Worick sent her to pick up cigarettes sometimes…

“Shit,” she said. “I wondered, but...I was  _ targeted.  _ And...this means they’re still watching me, doesn’t it?”

No one said anything, because they didn’t have to.

“I don’t even...I remember now, I moved to Ottawa a few years ago. There was a reason, but I don’t know what it was. I still don’t even know why.”

She looked at Worick, his bruised eye and bandaged arm. “Sorry for getting you and Nic involved in this.”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t you. That was Nic.” He managed a smile, small but real. “Hey June, you’ve been teaching me about women. How come women are always apologizing, even for stuff that’s not their fault? Drives me nuts.”

“Because women are socialized to please people, and to consistently prioritize other people’s comfort over their own needs,” she responded, without really thinking about it.

All three men just stared at her, speechless.

_ You one of those feminazis now? Ungrateful.  _ The voice came again in her mind, the one that called her a stupid girl.

“Guess she’s got you there, Worick,” said Galahad, a smile spreading across his face.

Worick shook his head, smiling as well. “Forget I asked.”

“Well,” said Galahad, “I need to let Miss Cristiano know about this.”

Worick nodded. “We should get in touch with the Guild as well.”

“I guess I should get my blood drawn, and try to remember why anybody cares this much about me,” she said. It came out a little darker than she meant. “Okay,” she looked at Worick and Galahad. “You gonna watch? Shoo.” They both left, Worick pulling the curtain half-closed behind him, and she turned to Dr. Theo to see him already prepping a needle. All business. It was steadying.

“One dose of Celebrer isn’t going to hurt me, right?” she asked. “Or give me superpowers?”

She wasn’t looking at Dr. Theo, because she didn’t like to actually watch when she had blood drawn, but she heard him hum in agreement. “There shouldn’t be any lasting harm from a single dose,” she felt the small prick of the needle. “And downers wouldn’t cause any physical enhancements. That’s the uppers; the downers are stabilizers for the effects of the uppers.” Before she noticed he was finished, she felt him applying a piece of gauze and a bandage, and turned back around.

“Nicolas is really fine, right? I just...before it’s just been his job, but I feel worse about it now that it’s something to do with me. Twilights are tough, right? That’s why he can do this stuff.”

“He’s just sleeping off the downers,” said Dr. Theo. Downers again? She wondered if they helped with healing. Dr. Theo  _ had _ said they stabilized the effects of uppers, but Nina had said they were taken together. “Most Twilights do have increased physical resilience. Nicolas is no exception. Alright, I’m all set here.” He’d labelled the vial and set it in a stand for analysis later.

She nodded and stood. “I guess I’ll go check on him, anyway.” She pulled back the curtain and started to walk around to the next bed, where Worick had said Nicolas was.

The memory came to her as she stepped past the curtain, brought on by a phrase Dr. Theo had said. Increased physical resilience.

_ While Twilights have increased resilience and faster recovery rates for physical injury, the toxicity of Celebrer ultimately results in significantly reduced lifespans.  _

The recollection was more visceral this time. A printout. She could feel the paper, see the words on the page as she read.

_ The average lifespan for a Twilight is between thirty and thirty-five years. _

The memory staggered her.

“Hey, you alright?” She hadn’t even noticed Worick approach her until he was putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” she lied. “This is all, just...a lot. People were following me, targeting me...and I don’t even remember enough to know why.” It was close enough to the truth that she thought she might get away with it. She needed to tell someone what she’d remembered about the research, and soon. But it wasn’t just that. She didn’t want to tell Worick that what had thrown her was the realization that the man she thought was his best friend might die within the next few years.

“I’m gonna...I’ll go sit with Nicolas until he wakes up.”

“What do I have to do to get a pretty girl like you to sit at my bedside the next time I get beaten up?” Asked Galahad. It seemed they’d finished with their calls.

“Rescue one from human traffickers, I guess,” she said. “Hey, I bet you never get beat up. Toughest guy around, right?” She smiled, and it felt as thin as Worick’s on one of his worst days. 

She moved away before they questioned her any further, stealing the folding chair Galahad had been using and taking it through the curtain to set by the bed where Nicolas lay.

He did look like a mess. He lay on his right side, a bandage covering his left upper arm and shoulder. That looked like it was the worst injury, but he had plenty more cuts and bruises, some with smaller bandages and some sealed with wound-closure strips.

And he had so many scars. A few of them were almost shocking, like a wide gash that ran from his stomach until it disappeared into the waistband of his pants at his left hip. It looked like he’d nearly been gutted. But it was the multitude of smaller ones that seemed to tell a longer story, a life of violence, not just done by him, but done to him. And...

She reached out and took his hand. Who knew if he’d appreciate the gesture once he woke, but...she supposed it was really for herself--did that make it selfish? 

_ The average lifespan of a Twilight is between thirty and thirty-five years. _

He had big hands, calloused from using the katana, and his hand felt warm in hers. Alive. He was here now, and part of her thought that anyone would feel sad, after realizing what she just had. The other part wondered at how attached she’d become to these two mercenary men in such a short time. 

She wanted to talk to him. She nearly always wanted to talk to him, but it felt silly, in the moment. He wasn’t in a coma, he wasn’t dying. He was hurt, and sleeping. There was no need for encouragement he wouldn’t see or hear, anyway.

What did you do, when someone was hurt?

_ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine… _

A new voice, a new memory. Someone had sung to her, when she’d been hurt, or afraid. She felt young, in the memory.

She started to hum a tune, not really knowing if it was something she remembered, or just something she was making up on the spot. No one was around; Worick and the others were all talking about the day’s discoveries on the other side of the clinic, and June guessed that if Nina wasn’t here by Nicolas’ bedside, it meant she was busy with other patients.

The tune developed words, then melted into another. She started to sing songs she thought she’d heard on the radio. She could remember lyrics and artists, but not where she’d first heard the songs, who she’d been with, what memories they were attached to. Eventually she looked away from Nicolas and out the window. Ergastulum. It still felt unfamiliar, and at the same time it felt like the only place she’d ever known.

Finally, Nicolas’ hand moved in hers, and she looked down to see his eyes open. He looked at her, then pulled his hand back and raised his other hand to tap his ear, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I know…” she said. “I was just passing the time. I guess everyone else is too used to you getting hurt to get worried, but I’m still getting the hang of it. But...” In the moment, she had an idea..

“Here.” She took his left hand and pressed it to the front of her throat, where he’d be able to feel her voice box. He looked at her, only confused for a moment. She could feel him start to pull away.

“You are my sunshine,” she sang, “my only sunshine.” When she started to sing, his eyes went a little wide. “You make me happy when skies are gray.” She smiled and continued the song, and Nicolas stopped trying to pull his hand away, just watching her sing. Eventually he closed his eyes again, but kept his hand where she’d placed it.

She heard footsteps behind her.

“June...oh…” It was Worick’s voice.

“I can’t believe she’s doing that,” said Galahad.

“I can’t believe he’s letting her do that,” replied Worick.

They were close enough that they’d know she’d heard them, but she ignored them anyway. 

“The other night dear, while I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms,” she sang. Nicolas' eyes were still closed, so he wouldn’t be able to see the words. “When I awoke dear, I was mistaken. So I held my head, and I cried.”

###  ***

Worick took her to the station the next day to share the information with Detective Adkins. She knew more than she wanted to, now, and still not enough. She was from Ottawa. She didn’t think she was born there, but she’d lived there for a few years. She still couldn’t remember her surname, or where she worked, or anything else to help them locate her. Chad had been focusing on Europe, so he was ordering a search of missing persons from Canada, but Ergastulum was shockingly disconnected from the rest of the world, and he needed to call in a favor from a department outside the city to get it done. And of course, there wasn’t much money, and there wasn’t much time, and there was even less of both now that the main trafficking operation seemed to be shut down.

The day after, Worick and Nicolas had deliveries that they split between them again, and Worick asked June to go with him. She wasn’t sure if it was because she’d been obviously anxious and disappointed since they hadn’t been able to make progress with the police, or because he was still worried to leave her alone. She guessed it was both.

“You could go to the embassy. It would get you out of Ergastulum.” They were halfway through the walk back, and Worick was trying to keep her spirits up.

“What would I tell them? Hi, I don’t know my full name or who I am, but I’m pretty sure I’m a Canadian citizen?”

“Tell them what happened to you,” he said. “They know what it’s like here. They’ll help you get home.”

“What if...what if whoever is looking for me just follows me there? I can’t remember anyone. I remember voices, sometimes, there’s…”

_ Stupid girl. Useless girl. _

“I don’t...I don’t want this,” she said. “I don’t want this to be what I remember. I want to be boring. I want to be someone from a house with a picket fence who’s never had anything happen to them in their life. I don’t feel like someone who’s involved in something so dark that someone...someone wanted to  _ get rid of me _ . I don’t want this.”

“I’m sorry, June. That’s what I was hoping for, for you, too.” Worick ruffled her hair.

“Hey,” she pushed his hand away. “You and Nic both do that. It’s hard to fix curly hair once it gets tangled, you know.”

“Nic ruffles your hair?” Asked Worick with a curious smile.

“Once,” she admitted.

“I wish Chad could get the missing persons records sent over here. I’d go through them for you. Would probably only take a few minutes.”

“You can’t leave, can you?”

Worick shook his head. “Couldn’t afford the price of Celebrer as a rogue. It’s next to impossible to get outside the city. Here, we’ve got Dr. Theo. And...the city is pretty locked down. I wasn’t born here, but I came here a long time ago. There’s a point when you’ve been here long enough...they don’t like to let you leave.”

“So you’re just...trapped here?”

“Hmm, trapped is a depressing word,” he replied. “How about more like...we’re both permanent residents.”

“Did you ever have a choice?” She asked. She doubted he would answer, but some part of her had to ask. She still knew nothing about his past. But...he couldn’t have chosen, this, could he? She could stand there and talk about not wanting these memories, this situation, but this situation was Nic and Worick’s life.

“A choice? About what? Coming to Ergastulum?”

“Everything. This. All of it,” she turned around and spread her arms, indicating the city around them.

“Well,” he said, scratching his chin and looking up at the sky, and she didn’t think he would really answer. But then he spoke: “When I think about it, I guess I had a lot of choices. None of them were very good, though.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I thought.” She nodded, turned back around and kept walking. What had she expected?

“What about Nicolas?” She continued. It had been a theme, her entire time in Ergastulum. Asking questions she knew people wouldn’t want to answer. Answering questions she didn’t want to know the answer to.

“You’d have to ask him,” said Worick. She was sure he knew; hadn’t they known each other since they were thirteen? But she supposed he was right that it was Nicolas’ answer to give.

She sighed and couldn’t help a small smile.. “I can barely get him to answer questions like ‘how do you like your eggs?’”

“He likes them sunny side up,” said Worick. “You ask a lot of questions sometimes, June with the Curly Hair.”

She couldn’t tell if it was a rebuke, or just a statement. But it didn’t matter, because a response came automatically. It felt like she’d responded to the same comment many times before.

“Of course I do,” she said, and the answer felt familiar in her mouth. “I’m a journalist.”

She kept walking for one step after she said it, then two. And then she stopped so abruptly that she forgot to put her foot down and Worick had to steady her to keep her from falling.

“I thought it might start to come back,” said Worick. “Once you recognized where the pictures were taken.

“I was...I went back to school. I wanted to make a difference, somehow, and everyone always said I asked too many questions…” she could remember learning shorthand, even though schools didn’t even teach it anymore. Spending too much on that stupid notebook at a bookstore because she though it looked professional. “So I went back to school, to be a journalist.”

_ What, you think you’re gonna be Barbara Walters?  _ Said the voice in her head who’d been following her.

Worick squeezed her shoulder and grinned. “That’s it, then. A missing journalist. Chad should be able to find you now. Easy. Or...do you remember the rest of your name?”

“No,” she said, wrinkling her brows. “I don’t know why it won’t come. And I can’t remember anything before it. I remember deciding to go, I remember classrooms...I went to Carelton. That’s why I was in Ottawa. And I graduated the Spring before last. I remember; that summer there was a little article in the news about Ergastulum. When there were those attacks, the hunters. I’d never heard about Twilights before, and...it’s like the world just abandoned them, and I wanted to write something about it. So I started researching...I’ve been remembering little patches of things that I read, and when I saw the pictures of the apartment, I could remember sitting on the loveseat with my laptop and all the printouts. And that book from your shelf. That was the first time I started wondering about why I was here, when I realized I’d already read it.”

“You’d already read one of the books? One of the ones about Ergastulum? You never told me that.”

“Oh,” it surprised her. “I told Nic, once. I just assumed he’d told you.” Of course she’d asked him not to tell, but Nicolas wouldn’t promise her that he wouldn’t.

“Worick, do you think I found something?” She turned to him, hoping for reassurance that she knew she wouldn’t get. He was just watching her, curious, quiet. He’d started making a point of not interrupting when she remembered something, to keep her from losing the thought.

“That can’t be it, right? That’s something from a movie plot, but…” Ergastulum was complicated, and had only grown more so since she’d first started reading about the city. There were so many different interests, often conflicting. 

“I wish I could remember all of it,” she said. “It’s like I’m remembering everything but the most important things. My full name. Where I left my passport. How I got involved in something… something dangerous.” All she could think of was how much she wanted to stay with Nicolas and Worick, gun and sword. They were only people she trusted, and even if that was only because she couldn’t remember her old life, it made her feel safe. But she couldn’t ask them…

“Well,” said Worick, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in close, “I guess I’ll just have to keep you close until you finish remembering.”

She wondered if he could feel the sigh of relief she gave.

She’d been so caught up in the realization of who she was--or part of it, that she hadn’t even realized they were almost home, but in another few minutes they were walking up the steps to the apartment. 

Wait, home?

_ During these episodes of memory loss, it’s not uncommon to see people form strong attachments to their immediate situation. _

She could remember her apartment now that she’d seen the pictures. She could remember her morning routine, the floral bedspread, watering the plant on the windowsill…

But it didn’t feel like home.

“Come on, said Worick. She realized she’d stopped halfway up the steps. “Let’s go tell Nicolas that you’re a daring investigative reporter.”

Nicolas wasn’t back yet when they got inside, so June started going through the bookshelf, now that she’d told Worick that she remembered reading some of the books. She’d found two more when Nicolas walked through the door. Worick started signing with him as soon as he got his attention.

He didn’t bother speaking along, but June was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the weather, and that was confirmed when Nicolas turned to her and signed something. When she clearly didn’t get it, he gave her a thumbs up, and she laughed softly as he walked across the office and went to hang up his jacket. She still wished he would speak to her more, but eventually she’d learn enough signing to have an actual conversation.

Well, she probably wouldn’t be here that long. Not after everything she was remembering.

Nicolas hung up his jacket, turned, and...

“Nicolas, you’re bleeding!” There was a red-brown stain about the size of her hand on the back of his shirt. She stood to get his attention, but Worick was closer. He tapped Nicolas on the arm and signed. Nicolas reached around and patted the damp spot, then shrugged and headed for the stairs.

“Oh, absolutely not,” she said, hurrying across the office and following him down the stairs. 

“June, leave him be,” protested Worick. “He’s fine.”

She ignored him and followed Nicolas down the stairs. She caught his arm before he got to his room, and he turned to her, looking mildly displeased.

**“What?”** He signed.

“You can’t ignore that just because you don’t want to go back to Dr. Theo again so soon.”

**“I’m okay, I’m okay,”** He signed.

“Come on, there’s no way you can reach that yourself. Let me patch it up for you,” she said. “Nina’s been teaching me some stuff. It’ll save you from ruining another shirt, at least.”

He looked at her for a long moment, gave a heavy sigh, then sat down on the arm of the single, run-down chair and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re welcome,” she said, going to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, and grabbing the first aid kit from one of the cabinets. When she turned around, Nicolas had taken off his shirt and draped it over the back of the chair, and was sitting, looking off into space. Was he  _ any _ less unreadable since she’d met him? 

Nicolas carefully ignored her as she walked around the chair to see what had happened to his back; it reminded her of how she avoided looking at Dr. Theo when he drew blood. 

A quick glance revealed the source of the blood. There was a long, sutured gash across his left shoulder blade; that must have been what she’d seen bandaged at the clinic. But it looked like about half the sutures were broken in the middle, and there was a small part where the wound had opened and bled.

She went to stand in front of him so he could see her talk. “You popped half your stitches. How did you even do that? You were just doing deliveries, right? Did you take the roofs or something?” 

He nodded.

She couldn’t help smile. “It does look like fun, sometimes.”

Twilights couldn’t walk the main streets of Ergastulum, she’d learned. She wasn’t sure if they were actually banned from it, or just faced too much fear and animosity when they did. That was why Nicolas and Worick usually traveled through back streets and alleys, but sometimes, when he was in a hurry, Nicolas just climbed a building and travelled across the rooftops, leaping from one to another like it was effortless.

She walked back around, set the first aid kit on the seat of the chair, and started dressing the wound. It wasn’t too bad; the stitches were a mess, but only a little bit had actually come open. She cleaned it gently and applied a gauze pad, then secured it with medical tape. Nicolas remained very still, and she would have chatted to relieve the awkwardness, but he couldn’t see her. She tried to ignore the rest of his scars, and the story they told, and honestly? She failed.

When she finished the dressing, she sighed, and then, impulsively, rested her forehead against his back, in between his shoulder blades. She shouldn’t have. Nicolas had never seemed very fond of being touched. It was...over a line, although she couldn’t say exactly what was on each side. It was just...

Something about these men chimed familiar. She knew she hadn’t met them before. She knew, from her reactions and the scraps of memory she was beginning to regain, that their world was alien to the comfortable way of life she’d been used to. But something was there, something in the cracks, in Worick’s fake smiles and Nicolas’ quiet withdrawals, that she recognized.

“You deserved better,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear it, and then pulled away quickly, before she made things any weirder. She walked quickly around so that she could talk to him.

“There’s a little spot where the wound opened up, so you should probably go see Theo, but the new dressing will keep your shirts safe, at least.”

He signed to her, and she recognized the word “what,” but not the rest of the question. When it was clear she hadn’t understood, he repeated the signs very slowly:  **“What did you say?”**

“Oh, I…” Of course. There was no hiding from Nicolas. He’d felt her breath. “I said not to audition for Cirque du Soleil when you’ve got stitches. Want to come back upstairs?” She asked. “I’ll tell you everything I remembered, even if it still isn’t much.”

He signed back another question she didn’t understand, but then shook his head and followed her up the stairs.

###  ***

That evening, Nicolas was reading in the office, Worick was on a cigarette run, and June was sitting on the steps, enjoying the setting sun. Ergastulum didn’t have much going for it, but the weather was nice. At least when it didn’t rain.

She closed her eyes. Remember, she thought to herself. Who are you? What happened? Remember.

She pictured herself in her apartment again, surrounded by her research. What was it? What did I find? Who am I?

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of bottles clinking together. Worick was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a pack of cigarettes in one hand, two bottles of sparkling water in the other.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Mind if I sit?” He held out the bottles and she took one.

“It’s your staircase,” she said, smiling.

Worick sat down beside her, setting down the pack of cigarettes and opening his bottle.

“So Nina’s been teaching you first-aid?” He asked.

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “With what you guys do, even if you’re good at it...it’s frightening. And...Nic especially...is he  _ scared _ of Dr. Theo? I didn’t think he was scared of anything, but you know he won’t go unless it’s bad or someone drags him. I thought maybe if someone was in the office who could take care of it he’d be better about it…and it worked, so...”

“Nic isn’t a lost puppy, you know, June,” said Worick, quietly.

She stopped and looked at Worick, a little surprised by the rebuke. She wasn’t even sure it  _ was _ a rebuke. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe just a fact.

“No,” she agreed. “That’s more your thing.” She nudged his shoulder.

“Hey…” Worick protested. “I’m not…”

“Nic’s more of a junkyard dog, right? Scary, dangerous, probably bites…” An image popped into her head. A dog, the same one from her earlier memory, but grown now. A big, square face, white with black patches. Tail standing stiff at attention, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Do you know how you make a junkyard dog?” The knowledge came with no source, only the image of the dog.

Worick shook his head. Listening now, like he did when he could tell she was remembering something.

“You beat it,” she said. The words were harsh, and she let them be. “You take in a puppy, and you beat it, starve it sometimes. Make sure no one pets it, cares for it, loves it. You take care of it enough to keep it alive, and in okay shape. But you make sure it knows that whenever a human comes near it, that means pain. Junkyard dogs aren’t mean. They’re afraid. And I’m not stupid. That doesn’t mean you put your hand through the fence and get bit. And knowing that doesn’t mean you can fix them. Sometimes...they cross a line that they can’t come back from. So Nicolas...”

The sound of the dog barking, behind a chain link fence. No picket fences. Barking, barking, always alone.

She could feel the little pressure of tears in her eyes. Not enough to fall, but Worick would notice. He always noticed. “I don’t think Nicolas hurts people because he’s afraid. And...he’s not easy to get to know, but the first time I met him he dismembered two people, so I try to remember what he’s capable of. The thing is...he got scared when he realized I cared about him, didn’t he? He acted like he was angry, and you told me he was trying to protect me, but really he was scared. And I don’t exactly sit next to him and lean on his shoulder like I do with you, but every time I’ve touched him, he gets so still...It’s not exactly the same thing...but it is, isn’t it? People who grow up loved, grow up safe...they’re not afraid of people caring about them. They’re not afraid of being touched.

Worick was looking at her, lips parted in surprise. “I pay attention, Worick. Maybe it’s a journalist thing, or maybe it’s part of why I decided to be one. Maybe I’ll remember, someday. But...you’ve known Nicolas for a long time, which means you probably know.”

“Know what?” he asked.

“Whether or not I’m right.”

She didn’t exactly ask him if she was right, and he didn’t volunteer the information. But he did stop for a moment, think, give her a long look.

“So what does that say about us, getting cozy all the time?” He asked.

Her mind felt like it had an answer, but not one that she could put into words.

“I’ll tell you when I remember,” she said.

“What was his name?” Worick asked. “The dog. What was his name?”

“She didn’t have one,” she answered without thinking. “I wanted to call her Patches, but she wasn’t supposed to be a pet, so she wasn’t allowed to have a name.”

Worick sighed. “Did you save her?”

“No,” she said, and then the tears fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've read all of the manga except volume one, because it seems to be out of stock everywhere right now. However, my friend and excellent beta reader, FrostWolfGirl, just got her hands on a used copy and sent me pictures of some of it, and listen.
> 
> We need to talk. And there are a couple just reactions I want to talk about but, but first, I need to step up onto my soapbox again. [CW: discussion of transphobia and transmisogyny]
> 
> In volume two or three, Worick makes a comment using a transphobic slur and a generally ignorant idea of what being a trans person actually means. And I sighed to myself, was glad the line was different in the anime, and moved on. But it turns out that in volume one, Worick says something about trans women using the same slur, and Nic replies with a really awful, transphobic and transmisogynist remark.
> 
> This is not okay. It's not funny. It's awful and hurtful. And I'm really tired of transmisogyny in my otherwise-favorite anime and manga lately. I'm tired of all this hateful stuff that people still think it's okay to joke about. Transphobia is unacceptable. It's not a difference of opinion. It's wrong. And I don't want to rant too much about my feelings in particular because I'm a cis woman and I don't want to center myself too much, so here it is:
> 
> TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN. 
> 
> As far as that affects this fic; honestly, attitudes toward trans people are not going to come up, but I need you to know this. The Nic and Worick that I'm writing are not transphobic. The Nic and Worick I'm writing support trans people. And that's not to erase what was said in the manga so that it's no longer problematic. But I don't write transphobic characters, and I'd honestly lose respect for a Nic who said what he said in volume one. So I'm just gonna diverge from canon on this point.
> 
> I will now step off my soapbox and talk about lighter things.
> 
> The manga did address two important questions I've had for a long time: Does Nic have a bedroom, and why does everyone brush their teeth at the kitchen sink? And I now know that no, Nic does not have a bedroom, and there is no sink in the bathroom. What a weird building. There will be an explanation forthcoming as to why Nic now has a bedroom in this fic, and please consider any previous mentions of the bathroom sink to be retconned.
> 
> Okay, and wow, I always wondered, watching the anime, if Nicolas went after Alex to bring her back or to kill her, but I'm still shook that yeah, he was definitely going to kill her before Worick stopped him. Shook.
> 
> Finally, Things that Nic said:
> 
> In response to finding out that June's a journalist: "You're remembering. That's good."
> 
> In response to the Cirque du Soleil comment: "Audition for what? What does that mean?"


	9. Nine: Contradictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nicolas is a man full of...you guessed it...contradictions

With the anxiety of who might still be looking for her, June found herself accompanying the Handymen more often--on the non-violent jobs. Which was how she found herself on her hands and knees, helping Granny Joel clean her floor. Nicolas was moving the shelves out of the way, picking up the heavy metal units like they were cheap particleboard (presumably why she’d hired the Handymen in the first place). Granny Joel was sitting down, because they’d insisted, occasionally opening the window for a customer. It was Friday, so Worick was out working his other job.

“So, you’re still with the Handymen,” said Granny Joel. June braced herself for another warning. Every time June saw Granny Joel, she reminded her to get out of the city as soon as she could.

“Uh-huh,” she said, dunking her sponge in the bucket of soapy water before going back to work. “I’m remembering a lot more lately, but I still haven’t quite figured out...who I am.”

“Well, you better do it soon. Every time those boys let someone stay with them, she ends up mixed up in their trouble.”

“Alex seems happy,” said June. She kept a conversational tone, but she was honestly getting frustrated with the reminders that she needed to leave.

“Well, Alex was lucky to survive the hunts last year,” grumbled Joel. “She shouldn’t have been anywhere near it. And look, now she’s living here. I suppose working for the Cristianos isn’t the worst she could have done for herself--at least she stopped turning tricks. The other one, though, the one before--they nearly got her killed.”

June paused for a moment. No one had mentioned that there’d been someone before Alex, or that she’d gotten hurt. She wondered if the Handymen made a habit of taking in lost women.

“She did pass on, just a few months ago, but I suppose I can’t blame them for that,” Joel continued. “She was another Tag, after all. Even if they stay safe, they don’t live long.”

Another Tag. June looked to Nicolas, but he was on the other side of one of the shelving units. So he wouldn’t have seen what they were talking about. She wondered what it would have meant to him, to have someone who was also a Twilight. Suddenly, she felt like she’d learned something she didn’t have a right to, and turned her attention back to the section of flooring she was working on. Nicolas was so closed-off, even on his friendliest days. And Worick had never mentioned anyone else, either.

She heard the soft sound of cardboard clattering to the floor, and looked back up to see that Nicolas had tilted the shelf too far and a few dozen packs of cigarettes had fallen. She got up and walked over to help pick them up. They worked silently, side by side, for a few minutes. 

When the last pack was in its proper place, she turned to Nicolas and said, “clumsy,” sticking out her tongue. He rolled his eyes, made a single sign, and tapped her nose with his index finger. She laughed, and then they both went back to work.

###  ***

“Ugh,” she raised her arms above her head and stretched her back and shoulders as they walked back to the office, two hours later. “Next time, I’ll do the shelves and you can get the floors, huh? Shelves looked pretty easy when you were doing them.”

She had gotten used to having one-sided chats with Nicolas. It was easier for her than silence, and it didn’t seem to bother him. She didn’t feel like she had a right to bother him too much about talking aloud if he didn’t want to, but she knew he could, and she knew he could read her lips, so she figured that if he had something he really wanted to say, he would say it. She was gradually increasing her signing vocabulary--eat, sleep, walk, home, Handymen--but it still wasn’t enough for much of a conversation.

“What’s it like to have super strength?” she asked, prepared for him not to answer. “Could you lift me with one arm? Can you lift a car?”

He stopped and turned to her, expression blank.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, backpedaling. “I didn’t mean to be flippant, just…” The reality of life as a Twilight seemed to carry so much  _ weight _ . She didn’t want to be insensitive, but she did wonder if there could be lightness to it, as well.

Nicolas didn’t look upset or offended, though. In fact, he smiled, and his face took on an expression that was almost sly. Taking a step forward, he bent down and snaked an arm around her, underneath her arms. For a minute, it almost felt like they were in the middle of a dance and he was trying to dip her. But then he pulled her tight to him, and his other arm went around her legs, lifting her a few inches off the ground.

“Nicolas? What are you…? I didn’t mean you should demonstrate.” She didn’t know what to do with her arms. It was a lot of physical contact from someone who usually tensed up at the touch of hand.

She didn’t have much time to worry about it. He started to move, taking two long steps toward one of the buildings that lined the road, and her arms went around his shoulders automatically as he launched himself into the air. She gave a loud yelp as he caught the wall of the building and leapt off.

“Nicolas! Holy shit, wait…!” She held on for dear life. She could feel his arms securely around her, and she was sure he wouldn’t let her fall. But that didn’t stop her body from screaming that she was up much too high, and going much too fast.

He caught the railing of a balcony with one foot and sprung off and across the street. When he hit the building on the other side, he vaulted off across the street again, finally landing on the roof of the first building.

“Oh my…” she breathed. “Warn me next time…” He likely wasn’t seeing her, since the way he was holding her meant she was looking past his shoulder, but she couldn’t hold back her reactions.

But he didn’t put her down, and she felt his chest move with soft laughter. He braced himself to jump, and…

“Nicolas!”

He leapt across the street, turning over in mid-air. She saw the whole sky, and then felt the sun on her back as he spun, and this time she screamed, not a cry for help, just a roller-coaster scream. He finally set her down when he landed on the other side, but it took a minute for her to let go. Her heart was in her throat, and she needed a few breaths to remember which way was up, and which was down. When she let go, he stepped back, but kept his arms close, presumably in case she lost her balance.

“Nicolas, oh my, oh my god, what…” she started to laugh breathlessly. “Holy shit, that was...holy shit.”

Seemingly satisfied that she wasn’t going to fall, Nicolas walked up the slope of the roof and sat down at the peak.

“Hey, wait!” She said. “Don’t just leave me here!”

He motioned for her to walk up the roof and join him.

“I...I don’t think I can…” She said, and she suddenly had the urge to look...they were three stories in the air. Three stories hadn’t seemed nearly as high when she was on the ground. “Um...Nicolas…”

Then he made a gesture she hadn’t seen in a while. He pointed to her, and then pointed two fingers at his eyes. Look at me.

“Seriously? I…” she took a slow, careful step. “You’re really fast, right? If I fell, you’d be able to catch me. Right?”

He just waited, patiently, looking a tiny bit amused, as she made her way up, picking her way carefully across the tiles.

“I can’t believe you carried me all the way up here just to make me climb the rest of the way by myself,” she said when she finally reached the peak and sat down beside him. He seemed almost relaxed, like he hung out on top of roofs all the time. Which she supposed he did. She only really started to breathe normally once she was sitting down.

From where they sat, she could see the whole city. Red tiles alternated with flat roofs that held clotheslines and laundry. “Wow…” She tried to orient herself. They’d been walking southeast from the cigarette shop, which meant that if she looked west, she could see Districts Two and Nine. She wondered if she could see Bastard. Dr. Theo’s would be to the north, along with Connie’s shop.

Nicolas signed something, bringing her back from the moment, and she had to stop and think to try and figure out what he’d said.

“Okay, the first word was ‘you,’ and ‘said,’ and I didn’t get the rest. I said something? Meet me halfway?”

“You said it looked like fun,” he said, and she burst into another round of laughter.

“I did, right? And...it  _ was _ fun, except for the terrifying part.”

**“What did you say?”** Nicolas signed.

“What do you mean?” She asked. “You asked what I said, right? When?”

Nicolas nodded and reached back to tap his left shoulder blade, where she’d bandaged his broken stitches a few days before.

Alright, so it turned out that was going to haunt her.

“I told you not to audition for Cirque du Soleil while you’ve got stitches. Which, actually, still applies…”

**“No,”** he signed.  **“Yesterday.”**

It was easy to forget how quickly he healed.

**“What did you say?”** He asked again. He wore his usual implacable expression--or maybe not. She could read him at least a little better, these days. There was something a little softer in the way he looked at her. Curious, maybe. She supposed she would be. But that didn’t mean she was going to tell him.

“It was nothing. It was dumb. Come on,” she said, hoping the plea for mercy would come across.

Either it hadn’t, or Nicolas was ignoring it, because he stood up and started walking along the peak of the roof.

“Wait, Nicolas, no…” she said. She started to stand up, but the roof felt suddenly precarious with Nicolas turned away from her. Which also meant he wasn’t seeing her objections. “Nicolas!” It didn’t stop her from calling after him, as he walked lightly across the roof and then leapt to the next building like someone might jump over a puddle.

“Wait, seriously?” She said when he reached the next roof and turned back to her. At least she didn’t have to worry about yelling loud enough for him to hear. “You’re, what? You’re going to leave me up here if I don’t answer you?”

He folded his arms and waited.

“Nicolas, come on,” she said, trying to stand and then changing her mind again. “This is not fair.”

He shrugged.

“Come on,” she said again. “Listen, you know what? I’ll tell you when you answer the last fifty or so questions I’ve asked you and you didn’t answer.”

He didn’t move, although she thought she saw a tiny smile on his lips this time.

“Okay, okay,” she took a breath. “I said something dumb that I now regret, and if you make me tell you I’m going to be very embarrassed. Will you please come help me down?”  **“Please?”** She signed for good measure.

Maybe it was the sign, or maybe he’d realized how much she was trying to avoid telling him, but he finally took mercy on her, hopping back across and walking to where she sat. Before she could decide whether to thank him for coming back for her, or complain about him abandoning her there in the first place, he’d scooped her up and started to slide down the roof. She closed her eyes when he got to the edge, but felt only a gentle impact when they reached the ground.

Nicolas set her down and started walking back toward the office again as if nothing in particular had happened.

“Well, glad we had that talk,” she said, mostly to herself. “Hey,” she jogged to catch up with him.  **“Thank you,”** she signed. “That was...it’s been...I had just gotten to where I wasn’t scared all the time, and then you and Worick found those pictures, and...this--well, this was also scary, but in a good way, I guess. So, thank you. Warn me next time, though, okay?”

He looked at her, smiled, and shook his head.

###  ***

“Candace, we’ve already talked about that. It’s not something I do. Now, will I be seeing your beautiful face this Friday?”

It was morning, and June had just showered and gotten dressed, when she walked up the stairs to find Worick on a call with a client, just a little bit of strain in his “professional” voice. He mostly kept the calls to Fridays so he could be sure to be the one to pick up, but it wasn’t unheard of for him to get calls on other days. She stopped on the top step and waited for him to finish.

“Okay, I’ll see you then, gorgeous!” 

His expression fell as soon as he hung up the receiver. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “I told you no. Stop asking.” It was only then that he noticed June standing on the stairway. “Oh, morning, June with the Curly Hair. Sleep okay?” He asked.

_ Stupid girl, _ the voice in her head said.

“I dreamt about elephants.” She walked the rest of the way into the office and sat down on the couch. “Trouble with a client?” This wasn’t the first time she’d heard Worick muttering under his breath after he spoke to a client, or when he came home.

“Oh, it was nothing,” said Worick, putting on a reasonably cheery voice. “Were they good elephants, or bad elephants?”

She looked at him, and thought that he always looked so tired. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anything; that’s none of my business. But you don’t have to pretend to be happy all the time. It looks exhausting.”

“Aww, come on,” he replied. “Isn’t it too early for these kinds of insights? I haven’t had coffee  _ or _ a cigarette yet.”

“Nicolas didn’t wash the coffee pot last night. It has to soak now,” she broke the news with a sympathetic smile.

“Nic never washes the coffee pot,” said Worick, walking over and sitting down beside her on the couch.

“It was his turn for dishes,” June complained. “He’s probably pretending he didn’t see me tell him, but I was standing right in front of him.”

“Since when do we take turns for dishes?” Asked Worick.

“Since about a week ago,” she answered. “I told you, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” he put his hand to his forehead. “I remember now. I guess...I haven’t been doing mine either, then.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Look,” she said. “I know I’m a guest in your house, but...you were just washing the same plate over and over when you needed it and leaving everything else in the sink. And it’s the same sink we brush our teeth in.” The building had an odd layout, with a toilet in one room small room, a shower and bath in the other, but no sink in either.

“Hmm. Maybe we needed a woman around, huh?”

She smiled. “I’m too much of a feminist for that. You guys take care of yourselves fine. I just didn’t want the sink to smell anymore.”

_ You one of those feminazis now? _

She looked down, shaking her head gently, like she could clear the voice away.

“You alright?” asked Worick. “I didn’t offend you or anything, did I?”

“Oh, no,” she shook her head again, more consciously this time. “It was…” she sighed. “Remember that time you said that maybe not remembering things wouldn’t be so bad?”

“How could I forget? That was the night I got to fall asleep in the arms of a beautiful woman.”

“Sometimes…” she was tempted to take the bait, punch him in the shoulder or something and let the conversation be lighter, but instead she kept going. “Sometimes I think maybe you were right. I’m worried there might be some things in here,” she tapped her temple, “that I really don’t want to remember.”

“Hmm,” Worick hummed and nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“There’s  _ this _ thing, the trafficking and the pictures of me, whatever kind of trouble I’m in, but as much as I’m scared to know what that is, I still want to remember. If I remember, at least I’ll know what I need to be afraid of.” She sighed. “But…”

“There’s something else,” Worick said.

“Yeah.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“I guess I must, since I brought it up, right? it’s just...I’ve been remembering this voice.”

“Your friend from the bar?” He asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t know why, but it’s this one memory. A man, calling me a stupid girl. I’ve remembered a few other things he said. None of them are nice. It just...it keeps happening, keeps repeating. Sometimes it’s because I hear something that reminds me and it brings it up again, but mostly it’s...if I have a moment where I feel like I really am...a stupid girl.”

Worick laid his hand on top of hers, then laced their fingers together. “You seem like a smart girl. That’s my opinion, at least. I’ll try to tone down...what I say about my clients.”

She squeezed his hand. “You’re allowed, I think. I get it. Or...really I don’t at all, but I...get the scope of what I don’t get, I think.”

Worick laughed softly. “That’s a lot to think about. Or get. I’m not actually sure.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I just meant…”

“No apologies. I’ve got this one client,” Worick stopped her and started to explain before she could make things any more complicated, “and she’s a good client, honestly. But the past few times, she keeps asking for...just something that I don’t do. And once is fine, but she just keeps asking. It’s frustrating.”

June nodded.

“It’s not as if I’m in danger when I’m with her,” he said. “It’s just...she thinks I’ll change my mind if she offers me more. And...that used to work, when I was harder up for money. But...just because it used to be that way...I  _ am _ for sale but...that doesn’t mean you can have anything if you pay me enough. Just because I’m a whore doesn’t mean I don’t get to say no sometimes.”

She turned to look at him, but he was looking down at the carpet.

“Oh...I, um…” She didn’t know what to say. Or maybe there were a lot of things she wanted to say, but all of them were probably the wrong thing.

_ Stupid girl. Useless. _

“I want to say a bunch of things, but they feel like they’re just...naive and stupid.”

Worick lifted his head, looked at her briefly before leaning back against the sofa. “You might as well say them. After all, I just told you you’re not stupid.”

“I just want to tell you that you’re not a...well, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it. Sex work. So you shouldn’t call yourself a whore. At least, if that means something bad to you. You’re just a person, and you’re...surviving, I guess. And...your body belongs to you, and nothing and no one can take that away from you.” She remembered those words. She felt like she might have said them before, to someone else. Or maybe someone had said them to her.

“Oh, June with the Curly Hair,” Worick gave a long sigh and sat back up, letting go of her hand. “Yeah, I guess that was a little naive.”

“Sorry, I…”

“Nope,” Worick stopped her, turning to her and taking her face in both hands. The gesture startled her, and she froze. Worick smiled, leaned in, and kissed her on the forehead. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t good to hear. Alright,” he let go and stood up. “Let’s go do the dishes. You wash, I’ll dry.”

###  ***

Work was slow that day, and the next. After two days without much to do, Nicolas was growing restless. It wasn’t hard to tell. That morning, when she’d gone downstairs to shower, he’d been doing push-ups. When she went back upstairs, it was sit-ups. When she came back down to grab something for breakfast, it was pull-ups.

She left him alone. They hadn’t spoken much since he had taken her up to the roof to try and make her tell him what she’d said while she bandaged his shoulder. She didn’t mind. He wasn’t exactly an outgoing or expressive man. She thought he’d probably used up some reserves.

He still hadn’t come upstairs when Worick returned home from some errands with sandwiches for lunch.

“Should I go check on Nic?” she asked Worick, half-seriously. She was sitting dutifully at the desk, but there had been no calls. “Or just let him do push-ups until he passes out?”

“He gets like this when he’s restless,” replied Worick, pulling two sandwiches out of the bag and setting the last aside for Nicolas. “And...I think he might want some space.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Well,” said Worick, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Nic’s worried you have a thing for him.”

“What?” she exclaimed. 

Worick smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I guess we kind of...bonded or something, that day when we were cleaning Granny Joel’s place. But he started that.”

Worick leaned up against the side of the desk and watched her like this was the most interesting thing that had happened in days. Which it honestly might have been. “He says you said something behind his back when you were patching him up last week, and when he asked you what it was, you would only tell him you were embarrassed.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “Is he still asking about that? It was nothing. And no,” she glared at him. “I’m not telling you either. And you’ve got a lot less leverage than he has. You can’t strand me on the roof of a building.”

“He didn’t tell me that part,” Worick grinned at her. “He must really want to know.”

It was at that moment that she heard footsteps on the stairs. Nicolas walked up into the office, a towel around his shoulders and hair still wet from what must have been a post-workout shower. At least he’d finally taken a break.

Wait...did she have a thing for him? 

She knew she found him fascinating. She knew that sometimes she looked a little longer than she should when he walked around in one of his black undershirts. She knew she wanted to understand him better, the dichotomy between the brutality of his Handyman work and his capacity for moments of sweetness. But the more she settled into remembering her journalism work, the more she realized that this was also something intrinsic to her. She wanted to understand most things better.

**“Hi, Nicolas,”** she signed. “Um, maybe we should talk. So, I…”

He picked up the third sandwich from the desk, turned, and walked back downstairs.

“Alright, talk later,” she said. “Oh, shit.” She turned to Worick. “This is exactly what he’d do if he thought I had a thing for him, isn’t it?”

Worick nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Well, fine, I’ll just ignore him too. Until he stops worrying about it.”

“I’ll bet you twenty he outlasts you,” said Worick with a smirk.

She sighed. “I probably shouldn’t take that bet.” Her pay for answering the phones consisted mostly of room and board, and Worick picking up things for her occasionally, as needed. Shampoo for curly hair, a hair brush so she didn’t have to share Worick’s. Some moisturizer that wasn’t marketed to men and “granite” scented. A few blouses and a pair of jeans now that the air had a hint of fall to it.

Had it really been that long? It was more than a month since she’d woken up in the back of that car.

Not taking the bet turned out to be a good idea, because she only made it about five minutes after finishing her sandwich.

“I’m just going to clear things up with him,” she told Worick as she started down the stairs. 

“June…” she knew he was going to tell her not to, but he clearly knew she was going to ignore him, because he trailed off before he finished the sentence.

When she got downstairs, Nic was sitting in the lone armchair, finishing the last of his sandwich. When he saw her, he stood, tossed the sandwich wrapper in the trash, and turned to head to his room.

“Oh, come on,” she said, jogging to put herself back in his field of vision. “Be a little less obvious, at least.” It was enough to get him to stop. “I was talking to Worick,” she started, “and, listen, it’s not like that. I mean, I do think you’re a nice guy. And you rescued me. But I’m not…”

She trailed off. Giving no response was normal for Nicolas, but there was something strange about the way he was looking at her. Maybe it was that he relied on his sight more than hearing people, or maybe it was just him, but his gaze always had a degree of intensity. A piercing quality. But not in that moment. He looked unfocused, like he wasn’t really seeing her at all.

“Nicolas?” she asked. “Are you...are you alright?”

He blinked a few times, and focused on her just long enough to look confused.

She had heard the phrase “their eyes rolled back in their head,” many times, but she had never actually seen it happen. Nicolas’ eyes lost their focus again, and looked up, and up...his whole body stiffened, and then he fell. By the time he hit the floor, he had started to convulse.

“Worick!” She shouted up the stairs, hoping he would hear her, hoping he was still in the office. Because she had no idea what to do. What were you supposed to do if someone had a seizure? She knew she’d heard about it, at one point, had read about it, had learned about it in high school health class maybe, but…

Worick came running down the stairs. “Shit,” he said, running to them and dropping to kneel beside Nicolas. “Nic, not again...June, go upstairs. There are Celebrer auto-injectors in the top left desk drawer. Get the downers--one of the black ones.” He started to try and unclip Nicolas’ tags from his neck, dodging the jerky movements of his arms. “And bring the blanket.”

She was running before he was done speaking. It felt very slow. She almost tripped at the top of the steps, but caught herself and went for the desk. Top left drawer. She’d never opened that one. It was where Worick kept his gun. 

Now, she yanked it open so quickly she almost pulled it out of the desk. She ignored the boxes of bullets and dug through the contents until she found several large plastic tubes. There were red labels and black labels. She grabbed one of the black ones, like Worick had said, ran to the couch where the blanket she used to sleep was folded. She almost fell again hurrying down the stairs.

Worick had managed to remove the tags, and now he had his hand under his head. “Give me the Celebrer,” he said, “and get the blanket under his head.”

As Worick moved his hand, she slipped the blanket under Nicolas’ head in its place, and then watched as Worick flipped the cap of the injector and slammed it hard into Nicolas’ thigh. Worick counted under his breath, and by the time he’d reached ten, the convulsions had stopped. Worick let out a sigh of relief, which reminded her that she needed to breathe as well. She took in a deep breath.

“Damn it, Nic,” Worick grumbled, standing and pacing across the room. “Next time maybe I’ll let you die. Be rid of you.”

“Worick…” June watched him. She’d never heard him speak like that before. Be rid of him? As far as she knew, Nic and Worick were close, childhood friends.

He turned to her, and there was something in his one eye that almost made her shrink back, something dark and frantic. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll call Theo on my way out. You’ll stay with him, won’t you June? Keep the old, rabid dog company? Makes you feel good about yourself, doesn’t it? Don’t get bit.”

She was too speechless to respond. Even after he walked up the stairs and out of view, she looked at the space he’d left behind, and still didn’t know what to say.

Nicolas made a small, soft sound beside her, and she looked down to see if he was awake. She saw his eyes flutter open, blink, and then close with a sigh.

She sighed herself. Worick’s voice filtered down the stairs, on the phone with Theo, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words. She wanted to run her hands through Nicolas' hair. Just feel that he was there. Maybe even to comfort him. She was tired of seeing him in pain. Even if he always said it was nothing, even if it  _ was _ nothing, to him, she was tired of it. Playing with his hair wouldn’t exactly help with his idea that she had some kind of crush on him, though. Instead she lay down on the floor, facing him. Probably not platonic enough, either.

“Listen, Nicolas,” she said. She wasn’t sure if he was unconscious, or only resting, but his eyes were closed, so she thought she was safe from him knowing she was speaking. She certainly wasn’t close enough for him to feel her talk, this time. “I know it’s a lot to dump on you, but you and Worick are kind of all I have, right now. Maybe when the rest of my memory comes back, it’ll turn out I have tons of friends, but the only one I can remember, that voice from the bar...well, I think they’re the one who set me up. So...if you could be okay, that would be really good, alright?”

His eyes stayed closed, and his breathing was steady and slow. He didn’t look like he was in danger, or that he was going to wake up any time soon, so she stood back up and went to sit in the arm chair. She felt a little bad just leaving him on the floor, but even if it had been a good idea to move him, she wasn’t strong enough.

“I’ve been spending too much time watching you sleep, for someone who doesn’t have a thing for you,” she said to his prone form.

Minutes passed slowly. She knew it was going to take Dr. Theo a while to get there, even assuming he wasn’t busy when Worick called. She felt like she shouldn’t leave Nicolas, even though at this point, he was really only sleeping. Eventually she decided it would be alright to run upstairs and grab a book. Among the wide-ranging collection on their bookshelf, they had a set of Shakespeare plays, and she grabbed the first one she laid hands on and hurried back downstairs.

It turned out to be  _ Hamlet _ . She would have rather had a comedy, but that was on her for rushing. She wondered idly if she’d read it before. She could remember the plot, but couldn’t quite decide if the words themselves were familiar once she started. Maybe she’d only seen a movie. At least the English was difficult enough that she had to concentrate on it.

Hamlet had just finished meeting his father’s ghost when she heard Nicolas begin to move. She looked up from the book. He sighed, shifted, and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Started to look for something, picked his tags up off the floor and clasped them back around his neck. Then he looked up and noticed her.

**“Good morning, Nicolas,”** she signed, setting the book down. **“How are you?”**

He blinked at her.

“Um, so you had a seizure,” June said, explaining in case he didn’t remember. “Worick gave you an injection of downers, and called Dr. Theo. And he, um, he went out.”

He signed something that she couldn’t follow, except that it mentioned Dr. Theo.

“What about Dr. Theo?” she asked.

He put his hand up to his ear as though he was answering a phone.

“Oh, call Dr. Theo? I can try; Worick called already, so if we’re lucky he’s on his way already.”

He shook his head.  **“I’m fine.”**

“You’re...fine?” She repeated. “Nicolas...you are not fine.” She repeated it in sign. **“You are not fine.”**

He shrugged at her and started to stand, and she was saved from deciding what to do next by a knock on the door. “Fine, you can tell Theo you’re...fine.” She picked up  _ Hamlet  _ and walked up the stairs. It was none of her business. She didn’t know what he was dealing with. Didn’t even know if this was a normal symptom of Celebrer toxicity.

_ The toxicity of Celebrer ultimately results in significantly reduced lifespans.  _

She told herself not to think about it, and went to the door to let Dr. Theo in. He looked more angry than concerned, enough that she took a little step back.

“He’s, uh, he’s downstairs.”

Dr. Theo replied with a nod, and she got out of his way. She went to sit down at the desk with  _ Hamlet _ , but pretty soon she could hear Dr. Theo’s voice carrying from below.

“It’s bad enough you overdose, but now you don’t even follow your daily dosages? What’s the point of having a doctor if you’re not going to listen to anything I say?”

Overdoses? Not following his daily dosage? She remembered Nina talking to him about taking his medicine as directed. It seemed like a long time ago, when she’d barely known Nicolas. 

Did she know him any better now?

None of it was any of her business. She decided she should go outside until Dr. Theo was done. She found Worick sitting at the bottom of the steps, smoking a cigarette.

“He’s awake. He says he’s fine. Dr. Theo is yelling at him.” She sat down beside him. 

“Hmm,” he nodded in acknowledgement. They were each looking down at the steps in front of them.

“You were...you were a real dick to me, before you left,” she said.

“I know.” He took a final drag on the cigarette before putting it out against the cement. “I’m sorry. I…”

“Hey, Worick?” She interrupted. “I know we met under some pretty strange circumstances, but I’m starting to feel like you might be my friend.”

The statement seemed to surprise him. She saw him look up and turn to her out of the corner of her eye, but she wasn’t quite ready to meet his gaze. “Yeah, I guess you could call us friends,” he said.

“What you said...it hurt. And it was about something that I told you because I trust you. If you’re my friend, you don’t get to take things out on me like that. Even if you’re hurt and scared.”

“Is that what happened?” Asked Worick.

“Yep,” she answered, quiet but terse, staring resolutely down in front of her feet.

“I’m...sorry I brought up the dog.”

“Do you really think I’m just nice to Nic because it makes me feel good about myself?”

“You’re not going to let me get away with any of that, are you?” He asked, but then he continued. “No, I don’t, not really. You’re...you’re one of those people who cares about everyone they meet. It’s hard to watch, sometimes.”

“What does that mean?” She asked. She couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or a criticism. Maybe both.

“It means what I said. You know what I was thinking, when you told me that story, and then you talked about Nic?”

“No,” she finally looked up at him. He looked...tired, like he always looked when he got serious. His eye was a little bit red. He looked more honest than she thought she’d ever seen him. 

“What?” She asked.

“I hope she’s not watching me that closely, too.”

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

“I know. You’re a journalist, right? You should write about this, when you get out of here. A firsthand account of the Ergastulum underworld. Bet you’d get it published.”

“Is...is Nic really sick?” she asked.

“There you go,” he said. “Asking questions.”

“I’m not asking because I’m researching an article.”

“I know,” he gave a heavy sigh. “Nic...tried an experimental drug last year. Something to help him deal with the hunters. It worked...to a degree. But ever since then, he’s been unstable. Dr. Theo increased his dosage of downers a little bit, to compensate for it, but...he doesn’t like to take the new dosage. He’s always been really sensitive to downers. Says it makes him slow. But this is the second time this has happened since then, not counting…” he trailed off and didn’t finish the sentence. “And...he’s thirty-five, now, you know. About. He doesn’t know his exact birth date.”

She wondered, again, how Nicolas had been raised. What life would have been like for him, growing up as a Twilight.

“He’s always been like this. It’s like he doesn’t care. Like he doesn’t even care.” Worick’s breath nearly hitched, and he put his head in his hands. “I…” after a long breath, he spoke into his hands. “I need a smoke.” He lifted his head up, pulled the pack out of his pocket, and June watched him light the cigarette and take a long drag, like he had that day when they’d first gone to Granny Joel’s cigarette shop.

“I know he’s not afraid to die,” his voice was steadier when he started to speak again. “I try not to be either. It’s a liability in our line of work. But sometimes I wish he would just...try a little harder not to.”

She scooted closer to Worick on the steps, and this time she put her arm around his shoulders, instead of the other way around.

“You ever going to tell me, June? Tell me what kind of dogs we are, you and I?”

“I haven’t remembered yet. You think we’re the same kind?” She asked. “Do you care about everyone you meet?”

He laughed softly. There was no sound, but she felt it in his shoulders. “You’re right. No, I don’t. Really, if you want to know the truth,” and she knew she wasn’t going to like how the sentence ended, “I hate just about everyone I’ve ever met. Everyone I haven’t, too.”

She didn’t ask him if she was included, because this wasn’t about her, and it wasn’t the point. Stupid girl, she thought to herself. You keep asking questions when you don’t want to know the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I forgot to tell you what Nic said when June called him clumsy. He called her ridiculous.
> 
> You're welcome for the roof scene. Seriously. It's right about a year since the first shutdown in the area where I live, and I think we all needed that.
> 
> There was something that I was going to put in the endnotes for this chapter, and I can't remember what it is. But since the previous chapter had a sad story about a dog, and then the end note was a downer, so I am just going to talk about my dogs.
> 
> My eldest dog is named Annabelle. She's turning fourteen this year. She's a black and white Pomeranian mix, makes noises like a pigeon, and likes to sit outside the door when my husband is in there to make sure he's safe. We got her when she was nine, and she already had two dislocated hips from hip dysplasia. The vet said she really shouldn't be able to walk, but she doesn't know that and she runs around just fine. She has twelve teeth. Most of the time I call her Noodle. I don't really know how that happened.
> 
> My second eldest dog is named Poppy. He's also turning fourteen this year. He's a chihuahua, just like, excessively a chihuahua. He came with the name Poppy when we adopted him, but I didn't think it really fit him, and everyone thought he was a girl, so I decided his full name would be Milton W. Popsicle. Lately I call him Porpoise most of the time. He loves eating fruit and licking the couch.
> 
> My last dog is Ralph. He's going to be twelve. If you imagine a dog that looks like a Ralph, it's probably him. We got one of those DNA tests for him and it said he's 81% Pekingese, but he weights 26 pounds and kind of looks like if you crossed a Pekingese with a tree trunk. He makes a huge amount of weird noises because 1) he's got the Pekingese squish face 2) he prefers to lie on the floor and yell until someone figures out what he needs other than getting on or off the couch by himself, which is always what he needs. He likes eating dirt. We have moles in our backyard, and his favorite dirt is molehill dirt. Sometimes I call him Ralfredo Sauce, or Mr. Sauce for short. Sometimes I call him Ralph Ralfredo Ralpherson. You can sing "Ralph Ralfredo Ralpherson" to the tune of Baby Shark. My husband does not like this.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed all of this information.


	10. Ten: Hyperthymesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers, but things are about to get complicated.

“You’re right, that’s exactly what he would do if he thought someone was interested in him.” Ally laughed. 

A day had passed, and June was back at Connie’s Gun Shop. She desperately wanted to talk about everything that had happened with someone other than Worick and Nic. Particularly, someone who knew them. And particularly, sexist though it was, another woman.

Ally was minding the shop for Connie while she was at some kind of appointment. So, while they waited for her to get back, June had told Alex everything. About the raid on Madame Rose’s, about the memories she’d gotten back, and the ones that still wouldn’t come, and about Nicolas. His scars. The convulsions. But also his suspicion about June. 

“I’m glad the seizure wasn’t too bad,” Ally continued. “The first one was awful.”

“You were there?” Asked June.

Ally nodded. “It was when things had started to get really bad last year. I remember walking into the clinic, and Worick was trying to hold him still. Dr. Theo and Nina had a critical patient, and they hadn’t been able to give him any downers because the convulsions were too violent. I pulled Worick away. I wanted to hold his hand, but Worick said he’d break mine if I did. I did it anyway. I couldn’t just leave him like that.” June was starting to learn that, in her own quiet way, Ally was kind of a badass.

“Was it...okay?” June asked. She didn’t quite want to ask, “did he hurt you?”

Ally smiled. “He held on really tight for a while. It hurt. But nothing broken. You should have seen Worick; he was hurt, himself, should have probably been in bed, but he wouldn’t leave Nic. Sometimes, those two men...it’s like no matter what happens, they still feel like they’re all each other has in the world.”

June nodded. “Do you know…” she started to ask, and then trailed off and shook her head. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Asked Ally.

“I was going to ask if you knew what had happened to them. Way back, I mean. But it’s none of my business. Maybe I’ll ask them myself. But I’m at least going to wait until I remember enough to tell them something about me, in return.”

The door opened, and Connie swept in with a smile.

“Alright, I’m here! Thanks for minding the store, Ally. Were there any customers?” She bustled behind the counter.

“Just some ammo,” answered Ally. “Oh, and Mr. Adriano has a message. He says it’ll be the usual order for next week. And that maybe you should deliver it in person. He misses you.”

“Oh…” said June, looking from Alex to Connie. “Are you and Marco…?” She thought about it for a moment, and decided they’d be a cute couple; Marco’s quiet geniality mixed with Connie’s bubbly enthusiasm.

“Oh, no,” said Connie. “Of course not. He’s Miss Cristiano’s second in command. Can’t have a woman holding him back.” But she winked as she said it. “Now, how are you?” She continued. “You said you wanted to talk. Did you tell Ally all the news already?

“Nicolas thinks June has a crush on him.” Ally answered for June, smiling.

“Oh! Well, do you?” Connie replied.

“What? No, I mean...I don’t think so?” Stammered June. “I guess maybe he’s handsome. You don’t notice as much because he’s always with Worick. His ears stick out, but that’s kind of cute.”

“Oh,  _ maybe _ he’s handsome?” Connie repeated her words, grinning like she was holding back laughter.

“‘His ears stick out, but that’s kind of cute’?” Alex asked, slyly. “You’re sure you’re not interested in him?”

“I...I don’t have room in my head to be interested in anyone right now. How could I even know who I like, if I don’t even remember everything about who I am? And...I’ll probably be leaving pretty soon. Nicolas is just...interesting, I guess. He’s a mystery.” June shrugged.

“Yeah, he is,” agreed Ally.

“Even after knowing him for a year?” Asked June.

Alex nodded and laughed again. “We talk a little more now that I can keep up with his signing. But sometimes I think he only really talks to Worick.”

“I’ve known him since I was a kid, and I still don’t understand him,” added Connie.

“He let me sign his name wrong for two weeks before he got around to correcting me,” said June.

“Oh,” said Alex, “I spent so much time with that book. And when I finally tried to sign to him, I had a whole speech, and he watched me, and then he just said: ‘Your signing is all messed up. I can’t understand you. Learn it again.’”

“Wow,” said June, laughing. “He was really a jerk to you. I guess...he called me stupid, that one time, but I kind of deserved it.”

_ Stupid girl... _

“So, how did he get this idea? That you’re into him?” Connie asked.

“Oh, God,” June put her head down on the counter, dramatically. “Alright, so one day he came back to the office, and he’d broken some stitches. He didn’t want to go to Dr. Theo, so I offered to bandage it for him. It was on his back, so he wouldn’t have been able to reach.”

“And he let you?” Asked Alex. “He really seems to have warmed up to you faster than he warmed up to me.”

“I guess I was kind of...insistent,” June admitted. “So I was just putting a fresh bandage on, and he...he’s got so many scars, and I just thought…”

Ally nodded, and Connie leaned down with her elbow on the counter, listening intently.

“And I just kind of...bonk,” she dropped her head against her hand the way she’d rested her head against Nicolas’ back. “And I said, um, I haven’t even told Worick this, but I said, ‘you deserved better.’ That was it. And I knew he wouldn’t see, but he must have, I don’t know, felt it or something, because he asked me what I’d said, and I just…”

“Why didn’t you just tell him?” asked Ally. “It’s, well, it’s true. I still don’t know much about it, but I think he’s had a pretty hard life.”

“Yeah, but that’s it,” said June. “I’m starting to remember more of my twenties, especially when I went back to school, but a lot of things are still fuzzy. Still...I’m pretty sure I’ve never been hungry. I’m pretty sure I’ve never been really badly hurt. I’m pretty sure that when Nicolas rescued me from those men, that was the scariest thing that ever happened to me. So to try and say something like that, say anything to him, it feels...patronizing. Naive. Stupid. So I lied, and I thought that would be that.”

_ Stupid girl. _

“But it wasn’t,” said prodded Connie.

“Nope. We were working together doing some cleaning for Granny, and on the way home...he literally picked me up, jumped off some walls, put me on a roof, and wouldn’t let me down until I told him. And I still didn’t tell him. I told him it was dumb and I was embarrased, and I guess he took pity on me. So now he thinks I must have been whispering sweet nothings or something.”

“Wait, you’re kidding me,” said Ally. “He took you up on a roof to ask you about it? I’ve never seen him do that with anyone but Nina.” Alex paused thoughtfully. “Are you sure  _ he _ doesn’t have a thing for  _ you _ ? Maybe he’s projecting.”

“Seriously?” It was a thought she’d never considered, and she almost blushed. “I guess...how would you even tell?” She laughed.

“He picked you up and carried you up to a roof. That’s a little romantic,” said Ally.

“A lot romantic,” Connie added.

“No,” she shook her head. “It was not romantic. It was extortion. And now he’s avoiding me, so...either way...I’m probably leaving soon.”

Ally and Connie both raised their eyebrows at her. For the first time since she’d come in, June noticed that Conne had a bandage wrapped around her upper arm. She decided to try and change the subject.

“Hey, Connie, what happened to your arm?” June asked. Connie’s eyes went a little wide with surprise, and June realized how the question could have been misinterpreted. “The bandage, I mean. Did you get hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Connie said. Her usual bright smile returned to her face, but there was something different about it, this time. It reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite say who. “I’m not hurt. I got a tattoo.”

“Oh, you finally got it done?” Asked Ally. “I’m glad. You’ve been talking about it for ages.”

June was relieved to hear that it wasn’t an injury. “Oh, what is it?”

“Just a little design with a star and two stripes,” said Connie. Her smile was still off. “My mom had one like it, so it kind of...reminds me of her.” No one she met in Ergastulum seemed to have family. Or living family, at least. June was glad that Connie and Joel had each other, at least. “I had it done once, but...well, it was on my left arm.”

“Oh, I’m...I’m sorry,” said June. She didn’t think it was precisely the right thing to say, but she couldn’t think of anything better.

“Don’t be,” said Connie. “Marco and I killed the bitch who did it. And her crazy-ass boyfriend. They’ll never hurt us again.” As Connie’s smile spread into a grin, June finally realized who Connie reminded her of. She was like Worick. She seemed sweet and bubbly, and June didn’t think that was a lie. But there was something dark underneath it that sometimes peered through in smiles that didn’t reach the eyes; smiles that were just a little too wide. June wondered what had happened to her, like she wondered what had happened to everyone, in this city.

###  ***

When June got back to the office, she found Worick sitting on one of the sofas, holding a copy of Anna Karenina in one hand, and fiddling with his hair with the other. He had had it down, which was unusual unless he’d just woken up, and it fell, shaggy, around his face.

“Hey, June,” he looked up as she came through the door. “You have a good girls day?”

She shrugged. “Connie and Ally say that Nic probably has a thing for me, and he’s just projecting it the other way around.”

Worick laughed. “Mind if I tell him that? I’d love to see his face. Hmm,” he brushed his hair out of his face, and it fell back again. “Do you know how to cut hair? Not to cut it off, of course. My clients love it. Just a trim.”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But...I didn’t know I knew how to cook, or to write shorthand, until I tried it. So, want me to grab the scissors and find out?” She smirked. Maybe he wasn’t asking just because she was a woman, but even so, she couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

“Oh, no, nevermind then.” The sheepish smile had spread halfway across his face when he hissed, his hand jerking up to cover the patch over his left eye. She’d noticed that it seemed to hurt sometimes, but it was one thing she hadn’t been bold enough to ask about yet. She thought it might be stress, if only because it had been acting up more since Nicolas had collapsed.

“Your eye again?” She asked.

“Mhmm. It’s nothing.” He flashed her a smile, and it was obvious that it wasn’t nothing, because she could see the pain through the expression.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said.

“Can’t be an open book every day.” He was still smiling, but it looked a little more genuine “It’s really nothing...” his attempts to deny it were interrupted by another wince of pain.

“I’m going to go get you some aspirin.” She headed downstairs before he could protest any further. When she got back with the aspirin and a glass of water, he had at least set down the Tolstoy. Just looking at the book made her feel tired. She handed him the aspirin and water and sat down beside him.

Worick downed the pills and the water quickly. “Thanks.”

“You haven’t been sleeping,” she commented.

“Neither have you.” They’d been taking turns waking each other up with nightmares. Worick hadn’t talked about his, but she imagined they were bad memories, like he’d told her. Hers were different. She’d been waking up with a start in the middle of the night, sometimes even a shout, sometimes in a cold sweat. But she could never remember the dreams. Maybe they were just silly dreams, about monsters. Or maybe, she wondered, hers were memories, too. Just the ones she hadn’t remembered yet.

“Maybe I should just start sleeping in your bed again,” she laughed and leaned against him. “Nicolas would stop worrying that I have a crush on him, at least.” Really, the one time had been nice. Comforting. Any more would have been too much.

“I probably wouldn’t kick you out, if you did,” said Worick, before taking a sharp breath and bringing his hand to his eye again.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Here, let me try something. Turn this way.” She moved over, and Worick let her put her hands on his shoulders and turn him so that he sat at a diagonal on the couch, facing away from her.

“Okay…” he said, sounding a little confused but game for it. “What are you gonna do? Crack my back?”

“Nope,” she said. “Be quiet.” She placed her hands at his temples and pressed gently with the pads of her fingers, massaging in small circles. “I think I know how to do this,” she said. “It helps with tension headaches.”

“Oh,  _ this _ I could get used to,” he murmured. “Are you one of those old-fashioned secretaries that does it all, now? Like in the fifties?”

“Shut up,” she stopped and tapped him on the forehead.

“Okay, okay, no flirting,” he said, laughing softly.

“I used to do this for friends during finals week, when I was in college,” she said. “Is it alright if...can I take your eye patch off? The elastic can’t be helping your headache.”

“Sure,” replied Worick. “You’ve been remembering more.”

“There’s starting to be, kind of like, a shape to it,” she said, brushing his hair back and hooking her fingers under the elastics that went around each of his ears. His hair was very soft. 

“To the past decade at least,” she continued. “I went to college right out of high school. I still can’t remember what my major was. Then I went back for journalism. I think that was more recently.” Delicately, she pulled off the eye patch and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“Very well-educated,” Worick commented. With his hair brushed back, she could just see the series of little dots that ran along the edges of each of his ears.

“You’re the one reading Tolstoy,” she said, smiling behind his back. “You used to have your ears pierced?”

“Yep,” he answered. “When I was a teenager. Thought it made me look tough.”

“Why did you get rid of them?” She asked. As she moved her hands back, she let her fingers just brush the shell of his right ear...and then quickly moved them to continue the massage, pretending it had been an accident. Looking away from her, Worick wouldn’t be able to see her blush. She took a deep breath and started to work her way back, across his scalp to the base of his skull, and then back.

“I got a job with a dress code,” Worick replied. “Hmm. What did I do to deserve you, June?”

“Nothing,” she answered, smiling behind his back. “Nicolas rescued me. You just happened to be around at the time.”

Without warning, Worick stretched, turned, threw his legs over the side of the sofa and flopped down, resting his head in her lap.

He smiled up at her. “You’re sweet, June. Too sweet.”

“Hey, I said no flirting,” she said.

“Wasn’t flirting,” he replied. “Just the truth. Although, it is a nice view from down here.” 

“I will dump you on the floor,” she threatened.

“Alright, alright,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’ll be good.”

She looked down at him. He did look more relaxed than he had in awhile, so maybe she’d actually helped. It was hard to stop her gaze from moving to his missing eye, the scarred lids. He did have what looked like a prosthetic eye, but she could only see a thin line of white; he didn’t seem to be able to move the eyelids.

“You ever gonna ask me how I lost it? You know, for journalism?” He’d opened his eye again and caught her looking.

“Do you want to tell me?” She asked.

“Mmm, maybe sometime,” he said, and then sighed and closed his eyes again. “You’re so mean, June.”

“What?” She gave a surprised laugh. “What about this is mean? She knew he wasn’t serious, but she wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“You treat me like this, and sometimes you even make me feel like I deserve it. And I forget that I don’t get to keep you. Hmm,” He continued without giving her a chance to respond, which might have been a good thing, because she had no idea what to say. “Will you sing me a lullaby? Like you did for Nic? I feel like I could fall asleep like this…” He trailed off.

She laughed softly, really just a silent movement of her chest. “Rock-a-bye baby…”

“Not that one,” he murmured.

“Seriously?” She asked. “I can’t sing like Ally, you know.”

“Hmm,” was his only response.

“Alright,” she said. “How about this one. Hush-a-bye, Don't you cry, go to sleep, little baby. When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses.”

“My mother--stepmother, she used to ride horses,” he mumbled. He sounded like he was actually falling asleep. She wondered how aware he was of what he was saying. He’d never mentioned his family before. “Y’know, June...the problem with remembering everything...is that I can’t forget any of it.”

She kept singing, and he didn’t say anymore. “Blacks and Bays, dapples and grays, all the pretty little horses…” The next time she looked down, he was sleeping. She carded her fingers through his hair absently. These two men...they didn’t need a woman around, but they needed something, she thought. She didn’t know what, but they needed  _ something. _

It was a while later when Nicolas came home, closing the door softly enough that Worick didn’t wake. Nicolas looked at June and Worick and raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question.

**“He was…”** she signed, and then,  **“T-I-R-E-D.”** She’d finally given in and learned to finger spell. It took forever to say anything, but it made up for her otherwise limited vocabulary.

Nicolas shrugged and went downstairs.

“Way down yonder, in the meadow, poor little baby crying Momma,” she sang under her breath. “Birds and butterflies, flutter 'round his eyes. Poor little baby crying Momma."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually looked up hyperthymesia, and it turns out it's pretty different from eidetic/photographic memory, and it gives some interesting insight in Worick's character. I'm not summarizing though. You've gotta go to Wikipedia by yourself.
> 
> For everyone who has ever thought about touching Worick's hair: You're welcome.


	11. Eleven: Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing good happens in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot? There's a PLOT?

It was a normal Friday. She should have felt jarred by the thought. She had been in Ergastulum for two months, and although her memory was becoming gradually clearer, she still didn’t feel connected to it. It still felt abstract. Ergastulum felt real.

Nicolas had decided to walk with her to Dr. Theo’s. He hadn’t given her an explanation, or a good morning, or any communication at all. He’d just followed her when she left the office. It wasn’t until he stopped at a nondescript building, pointed to the ground (stay here), and knocked on the door, that she realized he had a delivery to make on the way.

She waited outside, looking up at the sky. It was nice at the moment, cloudy, but with stripes of blue where the sky showed through. Off at the horizon, she could see some darker clouds. She thought it might rain later. The air had that feeling, like something was going to happen.

What did happen, happened fast. She felt safe on the way to Dr. Theo’s, especially with Nicolas along. Maybe that was why she let her guard down. Maybe, even with the experiences she’d had in Ergastulum, she really didn’t know how to have her guard up.

Later, she’d remember hearing the footsteps behind her. At the time, they just blended in with the usual thrum of city noise. At the time, she didn’t realize anything was wrong until an arm closed around her from behind.

“Hey!” she jerked forward, but the arm pulled her closer instead. Her attacker was strong, and she’d barely started to struggle when she felt a sharp pain in her upper arm, and turned to see a gloved hand, holding a needle. “No!” she finally remembered to scream. “No! Nicolas!”

_ Stupid, _ she thought as the world faded to black.  _ Stupid girl. He won’t be able to hear you. _

###  ***

When she regained consciousness, she was slumped over in a chair, the arms barely keeping her from falling, in a large, dim room. A loud hum rang in her ears, one that resolved itself into the sound of rain outside when her mind started to wake. As things started to come into focus, she sat up and looked around. She was in some kind of abandoned warehouse, not unlike the one Worick had taken her to when he taught her how to shoot. Boxes and crates were piled along the side, as well as large shelves in different states of disrepair. That still left a large, open area, and the chair she sat in was in the center. She wasn’t bound in any way, and somehow that made her feel more anxious. Whoever had her wasn’t even worried she could get away.

And she was about to find out who had her, because she wasn’t alone.

“Hi, Diana. It’s been a little while, huh?”

Three people stood across the room from her, in front of what looked like a door to further within the building. Two people, a man in a nondescript suit and a woman in the sort of army-surplus style that Nic sometimes wore, flanked a woman in a grey pantsuit. She was the one who had spoken. She was young, probably in her twenties, with long blonde hair pulled back in a braid, and June  _ knew  _ her. In the infuriating way her memories tended to return, she couldn’t quite say how, but she knew her.

“Who’s Diana?” She asked. “What…” her hand went to her upper arm, “what did you give me?”

“Oh, nothing serious,” said the woman. “Just a short-acting tranquilizer. Nothing like before. And Diana is you, silly bean. Did you forget? Is that why you told everyone your secret name, huh, June Bug? That’s kind of adorable.”

All of it was familiar. The woman’s face, her voice…She remembered that voice calling her “silly bean,” before. The tone was affectionate. In the memory, June smiled.

But her name wasn’t June. It was a nickname, one she only gave to close friends. Her real name was Diana.

“Is it coming back, Diana? Because I’m going to need you to remember.” The woman walked toward June while the other two stayed behind, silent, one on each side of the door. June thought they must just be guards. This woman that she recognized seemed to be the one in charge. 

“I fucked up a little,” the woman continued. “Kicked everything off a little too soon; didn’t finish my homework. I’m gonna need you to bail me out again.”

And then, June remembered. “Helena…” she said.

“You  _ do _ remember me!” said Helena. Her voice had a bitingly sarcastic quality to it. “Well, that’s a start.”

She remembered her, remembered meeting...they had bonded over their terrible break-up haircuts. She reached up reflexively and touched her own hair. They both had long hair, now. How long ago had it been? Helena had been drinking coffee in the Student Union, and June had seen her crying. She’d just left a bad relationship, and so had June.

They were classmates. Helena was five years younger than June. She’d started her Master’s right after undergrad. She wanted to be a photojournalist. They were friends. Best friends.

“It was you.”

“There you go, silly bean!” Helena’s voice was sharp and patronizing. “It was me! Is it coming back to you, yet? Are you surprised?”

June remembered laughing together. Going out together, dancing together. She remembered crying on Helena’s shoulder when her next relationship ended badly as well.  _ Your body belongs to you, and nothing and no one can take that away from you.  _ It was Helena’s words that she had repeated to Worick, Helena’s words when she’d comforted June after a hook-up she’d regretted.

A confidante. A friend so close she’d shared her secret nickname, June Bug, the name she felt was hers more than Diana had ever been. But the woman in front of her  _ hated _ her. What had gone wrong?

“I remember...we’re friends. We were friends,” said June. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Helena, frustration rising in her voice. “You wouldn’t. You believe in everyone, Diana. That’s your problem. You think everyone has good in them. You think everyone can change.” She walked to the collection of crates and scraps tossed against the wall and picked something up. A metal pipe. 

June stood, stumbling with the aftereffects of the tranquilizer. The woman she was beginning to remember, in fuzzy images and snatches of conversations, was gentle. Kind. The Helena that she’d started to remember would never pick up a pipe and hold it like a weapon, like one of the Anti-Twilights that Nicolas had fought.

“Oh, I’m not going to hurt you, silly bean,” said Helena, putting on a faux-soothing tone that was gratingly patronizing. “I just want to show you something.”

June kept the chair between them, but didn’t move any further. She didn’t know how far she would get, and anyway...now she had to know.

“You should have taken the money they offered you, Diana,” said Helena.

“Money? What money? Helena, just tell me what happened,” June said.

“Oh, you don’t remember that? Darn, that’s the important part. I could try and jog your memory, but it’s kind of fun to watch you put it together. You can’t have been in Ergastulum for two months and not remembered your passion project, can you? This was always the final destination. Man, the visas were hell to get.” Helena paced, swinging the pipe back and forth like it was a cane, or an umbrella.

Her passion project. She and Helena had graduated a little over a year ago, and she’d seen the article about the hunter attacks. It had been the first time she’d heard about Twilights, or Ergastulum, so she’d started researching.

_ “How many genocides will there be, before someone pays attention?”  _ June’s voice.

_ “There are genocides all the time, all over the world. Nobody ever pays attention. Nobody wants to see.”  _ Helena’s voice. 

June had told her about the project, all of it. June had gone back to school because she wanted to get out of waiting tables, wanted to make a difference, wanted to do something that mattered, but when she graduated, all she could get were freelance pieces on fashion trends and the latest Amazon products. But then she found out about Twilights. She was going to go to Ergastulum, research, do interviews, write  _ something _ that would make the world pay attention. 

Helena was more practical. She told her it wouldn’t work, that they’d never even make it there, and if they did, no one would listen. But she was June’s best friend. She’d believed in her. She’d agreed to come with her. Be her photographer. June wondered if Helena had taken the photos Worick and Nic had found at Madame Rose’s.

“I remember I was researching it. You were helping me. We came to Europe together. We were in North Gate when…” When she’d trusted Helena to watch her drink. “It was a human rights piece. There was no money.”

“That’s how it started, June Bug. But don’t you remember the other half? You started looking into Celebrer, Diana.”

_ Despite its toxicity, the development of a drug to replace Celebrer is thought to be beyond the reach of modern medical science.  _ June could see the page, and she could see where she’d written a note.  _ Liars! It’s the money. _

“Don’t you remember UmbraPharma? The tour? Your secret informant? You really should have taken the money, Diana. But since you were too righteous, I thought I would. And it turned out even better than I thought. I got something much better than money. Look what they gave me.” 

Helena held up the pipe, and June watched as she put one hand on each end and bent it in half, easily. “I’ll take power over money any day.” Helena grinned at her. “I told you, I told you so many times, Diana. Power is the only real safety.”

UmbraPharma. It’s the money. She’d been looking into whether anyone was developing an improved form of Celebrer, and everyone told her no. Except for an anonymous scientist at one company, UmbraPharma. He’d asked to speak to her. He’d given her everything. A secret development program. Illegal human trials on humans and Twilights. Of course, it wasn’t supposed to be for Twilights. Celebrer had started as a super soldier drug. Why make a better one, just to give it a population that was already sick, and couldn’t afford it anyway? If you made it, why not sell it to the highest bidder?

She was going to write the human rights piece, and she was going to expose UmbraPharma while she did it. They’d found out, they’d offered her money, but she’d thought she lost them when she went to Europe. Had no idea they’d try any violence…

Gunshots rang out, outside the building. 

“Looks like the  _ hero _ of the story has arrived,” Helena said, and the way she said hero, it sounded ugly. She turned back to the two people who’d been standing guard. “Both of you, go get Dan and Murphy. Hell, bring Parker, too. The Tag might have brought friends.”

She turned back to June. “Alright, guess we’ll have to speed things up. I’ve got everything I need, June, except the formula. You told me it was in your notebook--you can have that back, by the way.” 

She pulled something out of her pocket and tossed it to June. It was the notebook she remembered, the little black notebook with the elastic band around the cover. “I had someone translate all your scribbles, but it wasn’t in there. I need the formula, Diana.”

Helena bent the pipe back into shape like it was made of clay, and advanced on her; and June had started to consider whether running would be pointless when there was a loud bang behind her. She turned to see a door fall off its hinges. Someone had kicked it in. 

“Nicolas!” June cried.

Nicolas walked through the door, smiling, bloody, carrying his sword in one hand and dragging a body with the other.

“And there he is!” Said Helena. “You’ve got some luck, June Bug. Wake up in Ergastulum and meet a Twilight right away. How’s saving him been going? Any better than your last boyfriend? Or the one before that? You really lucked out on the Handymen. Not one, but two sad boys with tragic backstories.”

June heard a grunt from Nicolas, and then the body flew across the room, landing close enough to June and Helena to topple the chair she’d been sitting in when she woke up. The man--it had been a man--had a vicious slash from one side of his abdomen and when the body hit the cement floor, blood and other things spilled out of the open cavity. June stumbled back and away, hand over her mouth. God, the smell of it…

She saw Helena falter, saw her eyes go wide for a moment and her grip on the pipe go white-knuckle tight. 

And then Helena wiped the fear from her face and smiled. June had seen her do it before class presentations.  _ No, no, Helena _ , June thought.  _ This is real now. He’ll see through you. _

“Alright,” said Helena, turning her attention to Nicolas.“You want to play?”

Nicolas smiled at Helena, that predatory smile, the one she’d seen when she first met him. 

_ No, no, Helena. He’ll tear you apart. _

And then June remembered the others, who Helena had sent for backup. Even if Helena was just a girl from the suburbs, they had looked like they knew how to fight. And they could have been taking the same drug as Helena. “Nicolas!” she called out, waving to try and get his attention. “We have to go. There are more coming, at least four.”

“I suppose I  _ should _ make sure you don’t run,” said Helena, twirling the pipe as Nicolas advanced on her. “But I don’t think you’ll leave him. So instead, you can watch.”

June did run, but not for the door. She ran to Nicolas.  _ “We go now,”  _ she signed, almost putting her hands in front of his face. “We have to go! We can come back with more people.” She grabbed his sleeve, and he shook her away. Something was wrong. His eyes were so focused in front of him, his pupils were tiny… “Nicolas!” she grabbed his sleeve and he shook her away. He advanced relentlessly, blood on his sword, and Helena’s smile was really just a gritting of teeth.

She grabbed him again. “There are too many of them. If they’re like Helena, they could kill you.” This time he shoved her away, so hard that she almost fell backwards. This wasn’t right. He wouldn’t look anywhere except at Helena, he seemed hyper-focused, she was sure he’d come for her, but now he barely seemed to know she was there…

_ It’s bad enough you overdose… _

“Shit,” she mumbled to herself.

“You really can pick ‘em, can’t you, Diana,” said Helena.

June ignored her, went back to Nicolas for one, last attempt. She put herself in front of him, pointed two fingers at her eyes. Look at me. Focus on me.

He walked past her.

“Damn it, Nicolas!” she shouted.

“I’m going to have fun, taking him apart while you watch,” said Helena. Who was this woman who had once been her friend? What had she become? Why?

June heard sirens in the distance. Helena heard them to, body stiffening. 

“Helena, I’ll stop him, alright?” Said June. She’d fallen behind Nicolas, and he wasn’t paying attention, anyway. “I’ll stop him, but you can’t hurt him, alright? Alright, Helena?”

Helena gave no answer, but it was June’s last chance to act, and stop this fight.

“I’m sorry, Nicolas,” June said. She was only a few steps behind Nicolas, enough to run forward and reach him before he noticed. She pulled the Celebrer auto-injector she’d kept with her since Nicolas’ collapse out of her pocket, flipped the cap off, and slammed it against his back.

Nicolas lashed out, whirling and jamming his elbow into her gut so hard that her vision went white, then black, and she was curled on the floor when the room faded into view again. It  _ hurt. _ She wasn’t sure she’d felt anything that hurt that much before, and she choked when tried to take in a breath.

“You really know how to pick them,” said Helena, again. “You really do.”

Everything was sideways. The downers were taking longer to kick in this time, maybe because Nicolas had already overdosed. She watched him stop, stagger...Where was Helena? If she’d miscalculated, if she’d been wrong about what Helena would do, then she’d just killed Nicolas, herself.

“Bye bye, June Bug,” the smooth, patronizing tone had returned to Helena’s voice now that Nicolas was no longer a danger.

June couldn’t make herself stand up. The sirens were louder. Nicolas was still conscious, but on the ground now. 

“I’ll be back for the formula,” she heard Helena’s voice get farther and farther away. “I’m gonna kill your sad boys while you watch, but if you give it to me, I might do it cleaner.”

Footsteps, walking away. She wanted to get to Nicolas. She was so tired. Maybe, it was the tranquilizers in her system, now that the adrenaline had worn off. She managed to roll over onto her back. Her chest hurt on one side when she tried to breathe. There were more footsteps and voices, now. She thought they were the police. She hoped one of them was Detective Adkins. She closed her eyes. She didn’t lose consciousness, but she wanted to.

###  ***

She had some deep tissue bruising and bruised ribs. She was lucky none of her ribs were broken. That was what Dr. Theo told her. She and Nic had both been taken to the clinic, but Theo had put her in one of the few private rooms, and Nic had left without saying goodbye when the downers wore off.

Dr. Theo wanted to keep her overnight for observation, because he didn’t know what drug they’d given her and he wanted to make sure the bruised ribs didn’t make it difficult to breathe. She didn’t question it, even though he’d been much less concerned when she’d first seen him, for a dose of a much more serious drug. Her chest ached when she drew in breath. Not enough to cause trouble. Just enough to remind her, with every single breath, what happened.

Worick came, and she told him the short version of the story. And then he had to work.

Chad came to take a statement the next morning. She told him everything. She couldn’t remember Helena’s last name, but she had hers, now. Her name was Diana Theroux. And there couldn’t have been that many Helenas in their graduating class.

Even after Dr. Theo was satisfied that she was ready to be discharged with some over-the-counter pain relievers; he and Nina let her stick around. She tried to work on the laundry, but hanging it made her ribs hurt. Nina told her to rest, and offered to work on her signing with her. June’s heart wasn’t in it. She was pretty sure Theo hadn’t told Nina exactly how June had been hurt.

It was evening when she got back to the apartment. The office was empty, but when she went downstairs to get a glass of water, she found Nicolas sitting in the arm chair, holding a book but not really looking at it. She was perfectly ready to let him ignore her, but for once, he spoke.

“Why didn’t you run? You should have run.”

She set the glass down without filling it and turned to him. Apparently almost getting herself killed was what it took for him to talk to her. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a stupid girl.”

Nicolas stood up and walked toward her, and she tensed, backed into the counter. He saw it. But she stood her ground, at least. She didn’t really think he would hurt her. He’d come down now, after all. But her body wasn’t as sure.

He reached out and grabbed the bottom of her tee shirt.

“Nicolas, what the fuck?” She pulled away, but he shifted, boxing her in. He pulled the shirt up to mid-chest, and regarded the bruises that were blooming blue and purple down the left side of her torso. Then he let go, and looked into her eyes.

“You want to get yourself killed? Fine,” he growled. “But don’t make me do it.”

“Wait…” Maybe it was because her breath was stuck in her throat that her voice took on its own growling tone. “You better not be saying this is my fault.”

He shook his head. “No. My fault. But you should have stayed away.”

“Nicolas, this was...not inevitable. You’re not some monster. You’re a man who hurt me because he was  _ high _ .”

“I don’t need you to tell me I’m not an animal. I know what I am.”

“You promised Nina,” she said.

“I took my downers,” he retorted.

“Nicolas…” She thought back, to all of it. Toying with the Anti-Twilights. Refusing to take his medication correctly. Coming to rescue her, but not being able to turn away from the fight. “If...if  _ you _ want to die, don’t make me watch.”

He turned to walk away, back to his room, and she would have let him, but he stopped, turned back and said one last thing:

“You don't know anything. Go home.”

“I...fine. You know what? I will,” she said, to his retreating back. “I’ll just go pack my things...oh wait, I don’t have any. How about the toothbrush? Mind if I keep the toothbrush?” She was talking to herself, but she didn’t care.

That was how she found herself walking down the street with a toothbrush in her hand, when she ran into Worick. Literally, because the tears in her eyes were making it hard to see where she was going.

“June,” he said. “June, where are you going? What happened?”

“Nicolas told me to go home,” she said, still angry, still holding onto her anger tight like the fist that held her toothbrush. “And it’s his place, right? I don’t live there. I was just sleeping on the couch because I didn’t know who I was, and now I mostly do. So I’m going. Maybe I’ll go to the station and see if Detective Adkins can put me in protective custody until I can get to the Canadian Embassy. I took my toothbrush. Is that okay?” She tried to go around him, but he put his hands on her shoulders and stopped her.

“Hang on, hang on, stop,” he said. “It’s my place too. June--should I call you Diana, now?”

“No,” she surprised herself with the vehemence of her answer. “Diana’s best friend hates her so much she sold her to human traffickers. I don’t want to be Diana. I’d rather be June. Worick…” she looked up at him. “I thought when I remembered, I’d have someone. But everyone I knew from school moved away after we graduated. I didn’t have any other friends in Ottawa. Helena was there, and now...tell me to stay?” She felt like a fool for leaving, and a fool for wanting to stay. “Just for a couple more days. Just until I figure out how to get to the embassy. Tell me I should stay.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “You can stay, June with the Curly Hair.” One of his hands rested on her back, the other at the back of her head, pulling her in close. “Nic will calm down. You can stay until you figure out where to go next. Come on, let’s go back.”

As they walked back to the apartment, she thought she caught movement on one of the rooftops, but it disappeared when she tried to follow it. When they got back to the office, Nicolas had gone out.

Worick gave her his room. He said it was because she was hurt and deserved the bed, but she thought giving her more room to avoid Nicolas was part of it. And that’s what she did. 

For the next two days, she hid in Worick’s room, looking at the notebook Helena had returned to her without opening it, trying to remember the past year of her life, coming out when the office sounded empty. Things came back in fragments, and dreams she had while half awake, but eventually she felt like she had it together. She felt like she was the person who had lived through those events, done her research, met the man at UmbraPharma, travelled to Europe with Helena, until they met Jimmy in a bar in North Gate. She couldn’t remember where the formula was; she’d assumed Helena was talking about the formula to create whatever drug had...done that, to her. Had it made her cruel, as well as strong? June almost hoped so, because otherwise she still couldn’t remember why Helena would hate her so much. She thought it might be better if she didn’t remember where it was.

She had just gotten out of the shower on the third day when she remembered who June Bug was. It had been turning over in her mind since Helena had said it. Her secret name. “Silly bean,” was just something Helena said, to her and to other friends, something turned sharp and biting in the words of whoever she’d become. But June Bug, that was older. It hit her when she was halfway to the stairs.

_ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine… _

It was the song that had come to her mind when she’d sung to Nicolas. The one that had felt familiar. She could hear it sung by a man’s voice, soft and soothing.

_ You make me happy, when skies are gray… _

She saw a house. It didn’t have a picket fence, but it had a nice porch in front, and a swingset in back. The door opened. She felt safe.

_ You’ll never know dear, how much I love you… _

Kind eyes, blue, with lines at the corner that crinkled from smiling often. A smiling face, dotted with sun spots.

_ So please don’t take my sunshine away… _

He was gone.

_ I love you, my little June Bug. _

He was gone. No. No. Don’t remember this. Don’t.

She stood, barefoot on the carpet, shaking. Her hair was wet from the shower, but now there were tears running down her face as well. He was gone. He was gone.

The door to Nicolas’ room opened. She’d thought he was already gone for the day. She told herself to move, to go back upstairs and back to Worick’s room, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t make her mind do anything but ring, he’s gone, he’s gone, like a bell, and she couldn’t make her body do anything but stand and shake.

She listened to Nicolas take a few steps into the room, and then stop. A few more steps and she heard the door close again. Good. Hopefully he’d stay until she could get herself together.

But then the door opened, and a few seconds later, she felt something, a blanket, wrapped around her shoulders. Nicolas moved in front of her, and she didn’t have to worry about whether or not to meet her eyes, because hers were lost in memories of the house with the porch and the swingset where she felt safe.

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, and when she didn’t shy away, he reached around her and lifted her hair so that he could re-settle the blanket underneath it. When he was satisfied, he took her by the shoulder again and let her to the armchair, pushing gently until she sat down. He stood, watching her, for a moment, and her eyes cleared enough that she could just manage to look at him.

“My grandfather raised me,” she said. “He used to sing me lullabies. I was born on June thirtieth, and he called me his June Bug. I felt...I felt so safe with him. But…”

No. Don’t remember.

“He died when I was eight. And then I…”

Don’t. Don’t remember this. Don’t remember this.

“What was your family like, Nicolas?” She didn’t really expect an answer. It was a ridiculous question to ask. She knew next to nothing about Nicolas, and much of what she did know came from Worick.

  
He shook his head, and that was okay.  **“I’m sorry,”** he signed. He turned and walked upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point when I wrote the first draft of this, I realized poor Nic got his with downers not one, not two, not three, but FOUR times. And I thought I should change it because that was kind of repetitive. But they're four very special and unique times that he gets hit with downers.
> 
> Sorry about that, Nic.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my amazing beta reader, FrostWolfGirl.
> 
> (I almost forgot to make Nina a year older in this chapter!)
> 
> I've been shy about posting my fanfic for a long time (if you look, you'll notice my only other work is an unfinished attempt at Kinktober, so this is ALMOST my AO3 debut). In particular, I'm shy about my fics with OCs, and especially female OCs, because of all the negativity around the ideas of self-inserts and Mary Sues. June isn't me, I promise, but that aside, when I picked this back up, I literally talked to my therapist about this, and we talked a lot about how that negativity is rooted in internalized misogyny, and I should get over my shyness about it. So she told me to post more of my fanfic. So here it is. I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you like it.


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